


Apres Moi, My Dear

by CynSyn



Series: Celestial Spektors [2]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Abuse of Authority, Almost Apocalypse (Good Omens), Ancient Egypt, Angst, Angst and Feels, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Anxiety, Armageddon, Aziraphale Can't Disobey, Aziraphale Whump (Good Omens), BAMF Aziraphale (Good Omens), Caring Aziraphale (Good Omens), Caring Crowley (Good Omens), Consensual Possession, Crowley Loves Kids (Good Omens), Crowley Whump (Good Omens), Crowley's Name is Crawly | Crawley (Good Omens), Deleted Scene: Aziraphale's Bookshop 1800 (Good Omens), Digital Art, Digital Painting, Drinking, Drinking to Cope, Drunkenness, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Eventual Happy Ending, Excessive Drinking, Falling In Love, Fanart, Fights, Fire, First Kiss, Flirty Aziraphale (Good Omens), Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Forgiveness, Frottage, Getting Together, Heavy Angst, Hurt Aziraphale (Good Omens), Hurt Crowley (Good Omens), Hurt/Comfort, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Brainwashing, Inspired by Music, Library of Alexandria, Lower Tadfield (Good Omens), M/M, Making Love, Metaphysical Sex, Minor Sergeant Shadwell/Madame Tracy (Good Omens), Nice Crowley (Good Omens), Non-Graphic Violence, Orders, POV Aziraphale (Good Omens), POV Third Person, Pillow Talk, Please Don't Copy to Other Sites, Possession, Post-Scene: Church in London 1941 (Good Omens), Post-Scene: The Bandstand (Good Omens), Post-Scene: The Ritz (Good Omens), Pre-Almost Apocalypse (Good Omens), Pre-Scene: Body Swap (Good Omens), Protective Aziraphale (Good Omens), Protective Crowley (Good Omens), Rain, Romantic Fluff, Sad Aziraphale (Good Omens), Sad Crowley (Good Omens), Scene: Flood in Mesopotamia 3004 BC (Good Omens), Scene: Garden of Eden (Good Omens), Scene: Kingdom of Wessex 537 AD (Good Omens), Scene: Rome 41 AD (Good Omens), Scene: Soho 1967 (Good Omens), Scene: St James Park 1862 (Good Omens), Scene: Tadfield Manor (Good Omens), Scene: The Bandstand (Good Omens), Scene: The Bookshop Fire (Good Omens), Scene: The Bus Stop (Good Omens), Scene: The Pub (Good Omens), Scene: Wall Slam (Good Omens), Secret Relationship, Semi-Public Sex, Sex, Sharing a Bed, Sidewalk Good Omens, St James's Park (Good Omens), Tenderness, The Arrangement (Good Omens), War in Heaven (Good Omens), Watching Someone Sleep, Whump, Worried Aziraphale (Good Omens), based on a Regina Spektor song
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-11
Updated: 2019-11-30
Packaged: 2021-01-27 07:01:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 50,530
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21388030
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CynSyn/pseuds/CynSyn
Summary: What it means to be a Soldier of Heaven throughout history, to fall in love, and how it affects a certain demon, from Aziraphale's perspective.The follow up (Aziraphale's POV) to The Demon In The Music Box (Crowley's POV).Inspired by Regina Spektor's Apres Moi.Rating changed to Explicit as of Chapter 14
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens), Crawley - Relationship
Series: Celestial Spektors [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1534550
Comments: 315
Kudos: 264





	1. I Must

**Author's Note:**

> Here it is!  
This is the history of a relationship between a demon and a soldier of Heaven, as told from Aziraphale's point of view.
> 
> Updates will be a few times a week, depending on where I am with my art responsibilities (personal, commissions, and for the Good Omens Big Bang). I have bits of the story already written, but need to flesh them out more as time and inspiration permit.
> 
> Like The Demon In The Music Box, this, too, is based on a Regina Spektor song, and will include information to weave around existing canon from the Good Omens Script Book in some scenes. Chapter titles and some thematic elements are taken from lyrics.
> 
> If you haven't already read the previous story [The Demon In The Music Box](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21215792), I suggest you do so before you begin this one.  
I also suggest you give the song a listen to get the idea of the general tone of the story.  
[Apres Moi by Regina Spektor](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gtb6Uubj59g)

_We met in the Garden._  
_You were kind to me._  
_You were so innocent and naive back then._

_We **both** were._

_Until we met each other and everything changed._

An angel and a demon stood on a wall in the rain.

They watched silently as a pair of humans moved across the vast expanse of sand below. The demon tentatively brushed a knuckle against the angel’s hand, tilting his head to the side when the angel flexed his fingers but didn’t pull back. The angel pretended not to notice the demon’s eyes occasionally darting towards him, looking him over. At least, for a little while, anyway.

“You don’t seem to be like the other demons,” Aziraphale said, breaking the silence while still looking ahead towards the humans.

“Met many other demons, have you?” Crawley smirked.

“Well, no, no, I suppose I haven’t,” Aziraphale mused. “Not properly, anyway.”

“No, I’d imagine you wouldn’t get a lot of casual conversation at the tip of a sword,” Crawley agreed.

“Never really fell in with that sort of thing, actually,” Aziraphale sighed.

“No?”

The angel shook his head.

“Hmm,” the demon hummed, eyebrows going up in thoughtful amusement.

“I suppose you’re going to tell me that doesn’t make me a particularly good angel.”

Crawley looked him up and down with a furrowed brow. “Couldn’t say.” He looked back out towards the desert.

They stood in companionable silence for a few more minutes before Crawley continued. “It’s really a bit of perspective, isn’t it?”

“I’m not sure I follow.”

“Right, okay, uh, I, I didn’t really want to fight, either. Not my thing, really, killing and all that. I spent most of the war dodging about trying to avoid getting smote. Smited. Smitten?”

Aziraphale opened his mouth and took a breath to answer, but upon realizing he, too, did not know for certain, he merely shook his head and shrugged his shoulders.

“Anyway, does that make me a bad demon? Or a good demon?”

“I’m confused.”

Crawley sighed, “Yeah, me, too.”

The rain had stopped. They sat down on the wall, dangling their feet off the edge.

“Are other demons this nice?” Aziraphale asked.

“Demons aren’t nice, angel,” Crawley replied, his face darkening as he looked away.

“You are,” the angel turned his head to look at the demon.

“M’not. Not nice.”

Aziraphale leaned around, trying to look Crawley in the eye. “You’ve been nice to me.”

With a look of vulnerability, he tilted his head just enough to meet the angel’s gaze. “You’re the nice one. You haven’t tried to kill me. Appreciate that.”

“That’s not a particularly high bar you’ve set.”

“I can see how you’d want to think that, angel, but…” Crawley trailed off.

“But demons aren’t nice,” Aziraphale finished for him.

Crawley nodded, pouting slightly while slouching in a way to make himself seem smaller.

“It’ll be our little secret, then,” Aziraphale smiled warmly at him.

Crawley smiled back at him and sat up a little straighter, kicking his feet in gentle delight as they hung over the side of the wall.

“I think I’ve got one now,” Crawley said, matter-of-factly. “You haven’t tried to smite me once since we met. Now, I can’t tell you if that makes you a good or bad angel, but I _can_ say it _definitely_ makes you a better conversationalist than any other angel I’ve ever met.” The demon grinned, his fiery curls practically glowing in the fading sunlight

Aziraphale snorted, blushed, and looked away, laughing softly. “I suppose it does.”

The demon matched the laughter of the angel, leaning over and nudging him gently with his shoulder.

It would be many, many years before the day would come to bring the word into existence, but it was on this day that it would be truly defined. Crawley was _enchanting_, and Aziraphale was caught under his spell.

_How is it even possible that someone as radiant and decent as you could ever have been cast out of Heaven?_

As the sunlight faded into twilight, and twilight into starlight, the two lay temple-to-temple, feet pointed in opposite directions, along the top of the wall, looking up at the stars.

“What’s that one?” Aziraphale asked, pointing up into the sky.

Crawley thought for a moment. “I don’t know yet. The humans are supposed to name them.” He kept his eyes on the constellation, but turned his head slightly towards Aziraphale. “But I made them.”

Aziraphale shifted over slightly to look at Crawley. “_Beautiful_,” he whispered.

Crawley shifted his gaze from the night sky to look into Aziraphale’s eyes. “_You_ could name it.”

“I, I don’t think I should,” he said, quietly disappointed in himself for denying such a simple request.

“I’ll name it for you, then,” Crawley whispered, holding eye contact for a breath longer before looking back up.

“The humans will name it something else,” Aziraphale said quietly.

“But _we’ll_ always know.” Crawley’s eyes flitted towards Aziraphale and then away again with a gentle smile. “Our little secret.”

_Will we? I want to believe you. Why do I want to believe you? _

“Do you see those stars on either side? The look a bit like wings, don’t they?” Crawley pointed.

“Mm-hmm,” Aziraphale nodded, not taking his eyes off of the demon.

Crawley propped himself up on his elbow and leaned over to face Aziraphale, a flush spreading across his nose and cheeks. “We’ll call it _Angel_,” he whispered.

Aziraphale lifted himself up onto his elbows, scooting a bit, to mirror the position of Crawley’s face in front of his own. Almost as if in thrall, they leaned in towards one another slowly, close enough to brush noses and feel warm breath on each other’s skin.

A loud clap of thunder, followed by a second and third, startled the two as they jumped back from one another.

Aziraphale felt a familiarly unpleasant buzzing in the back of his head and a prickle on his skin. The look of utter fear in Crawley’s eyes confirmed it.

“You have to go, now!” Aziraphale gasped. "Archangels!"

Crawley nodded once, shifted into a snake, and slithered down the wall.

Aziraphale went down to greet the Archangels where he had seen the lightning strike inside of the perimeter of the wall.

They turned their heads towards him in unison as he approached.

“Gabriel, Michael, Uriel,” he nodded towards them each in turn.

“Aziraphale, where were you, just now?” Gabriel was the first to speak.

“I was on the wall,” he said, stiffening nervously into position. “Keeping watch,” he added.

“Ah,” Gabriel smiled, clapping his hands together. “Very good. Though perhaps if you had been doing more of that to begin with, the humans would still be here, in the Garden.”

Michael and Uriel, flanking Gabriel on opposite sides, looked to one another and nodded. They simultaneously turned their faces back towards Aziraphale, each tilting their head equally in the opposite direction. The overall effect was quite disturbing, Aziraphale thought.

He kept his eyes forward, unmoving.

“So,” Gabriel rubbed his hands together. “Since you failed to protect the tree from the humans, here’s been a change in plans.”

_That doesn’t sound right. _

“We don’t blame the humans, of course,” Michael interjected. “They didn’t know any better. They did not understand what their actions would mean.”

“Though they obviously do _now_, don’t they, Aziraphale?” Uriel helpfully added. “Now that you've allowed them to eat from the forbidden tree and expelled them from the Garden, that is.”

Aziraphale continued to listen, standing as still as was to be expected.

“Obviously, the Almighty is quite disappointed in you, Aziraphale,” Gabriel continued.

He faltered slightly, the memory of a conversation directly after casting the Humans out of the Garden coming to mind._ She hadn’t mentioned anything like that, _Aziraphale thought._ Although I wouldn’t put it past her. I did lie to her about my sword just this morning, after all._

His breath quickened.

He had lied directly to the Almighty Herself, the omniscient and omnipresent God.

_The Archangels must be here to cast me out of Heaven. Although, if Crawley is any indication, maybe Falling won’t be so bad. Maybe it would be okay._

_“Demons aren’t nice,” _Crawley’s words echoed in his mind.

_Maybe not._

“The Almighty has decided that you will stay here, on Earth. You are to be charged with protecting the humans.”

_Yes, yes, I’ve already been informed of this by the Almighty Herself_, Aziraphale thought, testily, though his expression betrayed nothing. _I was told this immediately upon being stationed in the Garden, before any of this happened._

“At first morning light,” Gabriel explained, “you will leave the Garden. You will follow the path of the humans, using your flaming sword as needed—"

_What?_

“In the service of protecting the humans from evil.”

_But I gave it away. I haven’t got it,_ he thought. _Surely the Almighty wouldn’t have said… _

In spite of himself, confusion started to creep across his face_._

“Yes,” Gabriel explained, noticing the change in Aziraphale’s expression. “You have been quite a disappointment thus far. But the Almighty, in Her benevolent grace, has seen fit to allow you this penance, this opportunity to set things right in Her name.”

_Had She?_

“Do you have any questions, Principality?” Michael asked.

Aziraphale considered for a moment. “Am I to Fall?”

“Not just yet,” Gabriel replied, his violet eyes flashing in the darkness. “The Almighty believes you might possibly be redeemed. Though it _is_ something to consider, particularly if you find yourself unable to perform the function of your duties.”

Aziraphale swallowed dryly. “But, I… I _won’t_ be returning to Heaven, then?”

Uriel scoffed. “Of course not.”

“I see,” Aziraphale replied.

Michael pressed her lips into a cold, tight smile. “Yes, well, I’m sure you can understand why you would not immediately be allowed back into Heaven.”

“You _do_ understand, don’t you?” Gabriel asked, furrowing his brow slightly.

_I did, before you all began explaining it to me._

“I do,” he replied, still confused, but wanting to move the conversation along.

“Excellent!” Gabriel clapped his hands together loudly. “We have been sent to prepare you for your task,” He smiled warmly, though his eyes remained cold. “There are things that you will need to understand in order to perform your duties to Heaven’s standards.

Aziraphale said nothing, awaiting his enlightenment.

“Our enemies are hard. You must be harder if you are to protect the humans. It is not for an angel to bend. That is not your design. You will break and become useless, without purpose. You must be persistent, diligent and pure,” Uriel began.

“The humans will need to be protected from themselves by any means necessary. You will maintain a proper equanimity. Do not concern yourself with their protestations, as they are ignorant and will not understand,” Michael explained.

“This is what it means to love and be loved, Aziraphale, to be charitable and forgiving,” Gabriel said.

“You must be sharp. As iron sharpens iron, all of Heaven will sharpen you. You must strike without hesitation. This is what it means to be merciful and brave,” Uriel continued.

“You will temper humanity with a strong hand, Principality. They will not understand your generosity and compassion. They will not understand that humanity will benefit from sacrifice and modesty, for they are small-minded and fragile,” said Michael.

“It is up to you to show them the benevolence of Heaven, as we, in turn, bestow our benevolence upon you,” Gabriel finished.

Aziraphale gave a tight-lipped smile and stood, hands clasped behind his back and silent as a proper soldier of Heaven was to be expected, and waited as the parade of Archangels left him alone on Earth.

_This doesn’t feel right, _Aziraphale thought._ This doesn’t make sense. Why would the Almighty tell them I still had my sword?_

As Aziraphale had been told time and again, he had never been a particularly _good_ angel to begin with. Good _enough_, he supposed, as he hadn’t Fallen, but still lacking in a way that had him removed from Heaven to remain on Earth.

Aziraphale wondered what it meant that he had been more comfortable standing on a wall confessing his discretions to a demon than standing before the Archangels while being granted their love.

He shook the questions from his head and sat beneath the apple tree to await dawn.

His thoughts began to saunter vaguely downward.

_We met in a garden, in **the** Garden,_ Aziraphale thought. _My hereditary enemy and I. Beautiful as the setting sun, he was, and exponentially brighter._

_ A bit of a misfit, that demon. But maybe that’s not a bad thing. I’m a bit of a misfit myself, if I’m being honest about it. A soldier without a sword. If it weren’t so tragic it might be laughable. An embarrassment to Heaven. But he doesn’t make me **feel** that way, not like everyone else. Such a conundrum, that serpent. Too nice for Hell and too kind for Heaven. _

_Impulsive, intuitive, inquisitive, incandescent…_

_I**neffable**._

_For all we knew of Earth, we never knew what was ahead of us._


	2. After Me, Comes The Flood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The story of a soldier, a demon, and the secrets in the dark recesses of an ark.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Parts of the beginning are taken from the script book to blend the scene with existing canon.

**Mesopotamia **   
**3004 BC**

Aziraphale felt a tap on his right shoulder. He turned to look, but no one was there.

“Hello, Aziraphale.” Crawley said, bright eyed and smiling as he darted over to the angel’s left side. It had been around a thousand years since they had seen one another.

_Oh, I’m so glad to see you, but I wish you weren’t here._

“Crawley,” He said in greeting. He looked down at his hands briefly, hoping the demon wouldn’t notice them shaking.

“So, giving the mortals a flaming sword. How did that work out for you?”

_It made you smile at me. I’ll never forget that. But after today, I fear **you** will. _

“The Almighty has never actually mentioned it again,” the angel muttered, picking at his fingers.

The demon pouted slightly in consideration. “Probably a good thing.” He looked across the way to see animals being led into a giant wooden ark. “What's all this about? Build a big boat and fill it with a travelling zoo?”

_You won’t like it. You won’t like **me**._

_I don’t like me right now._

“I probably shouldn’t be telling you.” _Because you’ll hate me, and I wouldn’t blame you for it._ “What with you being a demon and all that. But… from what I hear, God's a bit _tetchy_. Wiping out the human race. Big storm.” Aziraphale looked as if he were about to be sick.

Crawley was horrified. “_All_ of them?”

"Just the locals," the angel explained. "I don't believe the Almighty's upset with the Chinese. Or the Native Americans. Or the Australians."

“Yet.” Crawley continued to look around as if trying to process everything that was going on around him.

“And God's not actually going to wipe out _all_ the locals. I mean, Noah, up there,” he gestured towards the people gathering the animals, “his family, and his sons, their wives, they're all going to be fine.”

“But they're _drowning_ everybody else?” Crawley was stricken as he saw a group of children running and laughing past them. “Not the kids? You can't kill kids.”

_I can’t stop this. You should go. You shouldn’t see this._

Aziraphale pressed his lips together tightly, looking away while nodding an affirmation.

The demon was stunned. “Well, that's more the kind of thing you'd expect _my_ lot to do.”

“I didn’t get any say. But God’s promised this will be the last time.” _Please be the last time_. “Oh, and when it's done, the Almighty's going to put up a new thing, called a _rain **bow**_, as a promise not… Not to drown everyone again.”

“How kind,” Crawley replied, sarcastically.

“You can't judge the Almighty, Crawley. God's plans are—”

Crawley cut him off quickly. “Are you going to say _ineffable_?”

“Possibly.”

_I wish I had a better answer for any of this._

A loud booming rang through the air in the distance, startling some of the animals as the first drops of rain fell.

_It’s starting._

“Oi! Shem!” Crawley yelled, waving his arms and pointing towards the humans loading the boat. “That unicorn's going to make a run for it.” He looked a bit deflated as the unicorn ran away. “Oh, it's too late. It's too late! Well, you've still got one of them.”

He turned quickly to Aziraphale.

“Look, while they’re distracted chasing after that unicorn, you and I can gather up all the kids and take them somewhere safe.”

“I can’t. I’ll have to board the boat myself after they’ve completed everything here.”

“Fine, fine. We haven’t got time to argue. Help me get the kids together and I’ll take them to a safe place myself.” The demon had the angel by the hand, ready to pull him out of the crowd.

“There aren’t going to _be_ any safe places here, Crawley.” He looked at the demon with sorrow in his eyes.

“Where is it to be safe, then?” Crawley studied his expression as he spoke. “Where can I take them?”

“I can’t tell you that.” The angel closed his eyes, unable to look at the demon’s face in the moment.

“You can’t or you _won’t_?” The demon glared at him.

“I _don’t know_, Crawley.” His fingernails were digging into his palms as he clenched his hands together tightly. “As I told you, I’m not given any say over—"

“You’ll tell me _now_, Aziraphale. You’ll tell me now or I’ll sink that _bloody_ boat like a stone,” the demon growled.

“You won’t.”

Crawley sat down heavily, holding his head in his hands. “No, I won’t. I suppose I’ll have to just miracle up a boat and follow you, then.”

“You can’t!" Aziraphale's eyes widened in panic.

Crawley looked up, golden eyes narrowed. “Why not?”

“Heaven won’t allow it."

“And just what are they going to do to stop it?” His eyebrows furrowed as he glared up at Aziraphale.

“They’ll destroy any other vessel in the water,” Aziraphale said quietly, looking up at the clouds as a few more drops of rain fell. “And they’ll expect me to be the one to do it.”

“Then you simply won’t.”

“It isn’t that simple, and you know it," he said as he turned to face the demon.

“It’s as simple as a choice.”

“I’m an angel. I don’t have a choice. I have a duty.”

“Your duty is to strike down boats and kill kids?” 

Aziraphale slumped, his expression pained.

“Please don’t make me hurt you, Crawley,” he choked out.

Crawley, softening slightly, growled and sighed. “All right, let's come at this from another angle, then. What does your duty say about who gets on the ark?”

“I have nothing to do with any of that,” Aziraphale said, reaching up to rub the moisture from his eyes before it fell down his cheek.

“You’ll help me get the kids on the boat and hide them, then.”

“I won’t.” He exhaled heavily. “As I said, I have nothing to do with any of that. On this, my orders are clear. I’m not to interfere or otherwise intervene in stocking the Ark. The only thing I am allowed to place upon or remove from the vessel is myself.”

The demon looked thoughtful for a moment before asking, “Will you at least look the other way so that I can?”

Aziraphale said nothing. He could feel Crawley’s eyes boring a hole through him until he looked up to meet the golden, pleading gaze.

_You’re a demon, a wicked tempter and tormentor. You aren’t supposed to care about protecting the lives of children. Yet here you are, doing a better job of protecting the humans than I ever did. _

_ I’m an angel. I’m supposed to bring mercy and forgiveness. Instead, I spread pain and devastation. I’m the worst soldier in Heaven and the worst angel on Earth._

_But maybe…_

The Principality took a deep breath, turned to face away from both the demon and the ark. He stood, feet shoulder-width apart, hands clasped behind his back, holding his own gaze unerringly forward.

Just like a _good_ soldier.

Crawley emerged from a dark doorway in the lower deck of the ark. “How long has it been?”

“About three weeks,” Aziraphale replied, leaning back slightly in his chair.

The demon sat on his knees in the floor. “How much longer have we got?”

“Not sure. It’s supposed to rain for 40 days and 40 nights, but I can’t start scouting for dry land until the rain ends.”

“They’re getting sick, Aziraphale.” Crawley sighed wearily, shoulders slouched. “Humans need sunshine and clean air and water, and good food. They can’t survive cramped in a dark, stuffy, damp hole in a floating log. I’ve been trying to keep them quiet, fed, and clean, but it’s becoming too much for me to do this and to keep healing them, too. Demons aren’t made for that sort of thing, especially not in that capacity.”

“Won’t Hell be angry with you over this?”

Crawley shot his hands up and out to his sides. “That doesn’t matter.”

“Of course it does.”

_What if they destroy you?_

“It doesn’t, Aziraphale. Those kids don’t deserve Hell, and Hell certainly doesn’t deserve to claim them.”

“Heaven—”

“Heaven doesn’t get to have them, either! Not yet!” Crawley hissed, cutting him off mid-sentence.

“Heaven ordered me not to interfere, specifically, in certain areas, including aiding any of the humans outside of my duty to find land.” he continued. “And so I can’t. But I won’t interfere with you, either, not so long as what you’re doing doesn’t conflict with my own orders.”

_What am I doing here?_

“Aziraphale, I am _so tired_.” The demon had crawled over to his feet, wrapping his arms around the angel’s legs, looking up at him. “Help me, angel, _please_.”

“I can’t disobey orders.”

_I don’t know how. _

“I’m not asking you to disobey orders, Aziraphale.”

“Yes, you are! That’s exactly what you’re doing!” Aziraphale was frantic.

_Do you think I want this? Do you think it isn’t tearing me apart knowing what’s going on in there? And outside? What it's doing to you, the closest thing to a friend I've ever had? It’s horrible, and I cannot do a thing about any of it. It’s not a **decision** I’m making not to act!_

“Fine! Maybe I am, but they’re kids, Aziraphale! They’re just kids.” The desperation was evident in the demon’s voice even as he buried his face, pleading into the angel’s robes. “Please, I can’t save them all, not alone.”

The angel looked down at the demon with plaintive eyes.

_Tell me how, and I’ll give you anything you want. I don’t want to do this, not to them, and especially not to you._

He reached out, tracing a fingertip along a copper braid at the demon’s temple_._

Crawley continued. “They don’t deserve any of this.”

“God’s plans are—”

“Don’t. Don’t you dare,” the demon seethed, scooting back frantically before shakily standing up to his full height.

“Crawley, please. You have to understand—” Aziraphale was wringing his hands so hard there wasn’t enough blood in his fingers to give them color.

“No, _you_ have to understand, Aziraphale. You said that you _heard_ God was a bit _‘tetchy.’_ Did _God_ tell you this Herself?”

Aziraphale’s eyes widened. “You can’t quest—”

Crawley rushed at Aziraphale, grabbing his shoulders, leaning down to bring them eye-to-eye. The angel’s mouth closed quickly as his eyes locked with wild, serpentine-slit pupils. “Don’t you remember the Rebellion, Aziraphale? Don’t you remember why God cast Lucifer out? Cast all of us out? Why we **_burned_**?”

The angel stared, wide-eyed, and shook his head.

Crawley loosened his grip on Aziraphale’s arm slightly, looking down. “No, I suppose you wouldn’t know, would you? You never hung around that lot.” He tilted his head back up slightly, the dim light just barely illuminating his narrowed eyes. “And you’re too _good_ of an angel to ask questions the way I did.” He leaned in closer to Aziraphale, almost nose to nose. “Well, let me enlighten you, _angel_. It was jealousy. Lucifer was jealous of the way She loved the humans when she laid out the plans for them. He was jealous that they were going to get to choose. He was jealous that we all were to have a hand in creating a paradise for them, and he was jealous that She held the humans above all of her angels.”

“He convinced any angel he thought he could sway to feel the same way. Those that he found he couldn’t, he encouraged us to question things, to question why She would love them, the humans, so much more. Now does all of, of _this_,” Crawley gestured around wildly at the interior of the ark, “Seem like the sort of thing someone would do if She loved humans enough to cast down Her own Morningstar and at least a third of Heaven just to protect them?”

The demon looked back and forth between each of the angel’s eyes before continuing. “God didn’t tell you _anything_, did she? It was the Archangels, wasn’t it? You know, it was Michael that cast Lucifer down. Do you remember that? Michael hasn’t said anything to you about all of this?”

Aziraphale suddenly remembered what Michael had said to him on his last night in the Garden_._

_“You will temper humanity with a strong hand, Principality. They will not understand your generosity and compassion They will not understand that humanity will benefit from sacrifice and modesty, for they are small-minded and fragile.”_

Pale and silent, he gave no answer.

“Because it sounds to me like there are still some jealous Archangels up in Heaven who managed not to get caught during the Rebellion, and they’re using _you_ to—”

Aziraphale wrenched himself free of Crawley’s grip, stumbling backward out of his chair. “Don’t say another word, demon! They’re Archangels. They can’t lie!”

_Can they?_

Crawley stalked back over to Aziraphale, practically pinning him to the wall. “You look me in the eyes _right now_, Aziraphale, and you tell me that you _really_ believe this is part of God’s plan and those kids, and all those other people floating in the water out there, deserve to _die_. You tell me that right now, and I’ll stop.” The demon looked down and quietly let out a broken whisper. “I’ll _stop_.”

_I can’t…_

Aziraphale looked away.

_Neither of us want you to stop._

Crawley scoffed. “I don’t know which would have been worse. If you had actually admitted to it, or the fact that you can’t but you’re _still_ going along with this.”

_ I don’t know what’s true anymore. But I know I never wanted any of this. I don’t get to choose, not when it comes to Heaven’s orders. As long as I belong to Heaven, it’s built into me. _

Aziraphale looked lost, giving the only answer he had. “I’m an angel.”

A small cough could be heard from within the darkness behind them. Crawley turned his head at the sound, then turned back towards Aziraphale, a mixture of venom, despair, and longing in his words. “What happened to the angel I knew who gave away his flaming sword?” Crawley turned to walk away, pausing to catch his balance against the door frame, head down, unable to look at Aziraphale. “I miss him, that angel,” He whispered as he disappeared into the darkness of the lower deck.

_I don’t know how to make it all stop. Everywhere I go, I bring destruction._

_After me, comes the flood._


	3. You Can't Break That Which Isn't Yours

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _We met in a garden, in the Garden, _Aziraphale thought, _my hereditary enemy and I. Delicate as the first blooms of Spring, he was, and exponentially more lovely._
> 
> It has been said that forbidden fruit is as sweet as it is dangerous.

_We met in the Garden._  
_You were kind to me._  
_You were so innocent and naive back then._

_We **both** were._

_Until you met me and everything changed._

_We met in a garden, in **the** Garden,_ Aziraphale thought, _my hereditary enemy and I. Delicate as the first blooms of Spring, he was, and exponentially more lovely._

“What are _you_ doing here?”

Aziraphale’s head jerked around at the sound of the familiar voice. “Pardon?”

“_You, **angel**_. What are you _doing_ here?”

_Crawley._

He hadn’t seen hide nor hair of the demon for around 1500 years. He looked older, somehow, in spite of the fact that celestial beings didn’t really need to age physically. The face that had once had been gentle and open was now somehow sharper and more angled. Still, he was quite resplendent with his kohl-rimmed eyes and long, braided hair, adorned from head-to-toe with enough gold and jewels to make the future King Solomon blush.

“I’ve been sent on a bit of a reconnaissance mission, it would seem,” Aziraphale answered sheepishly. “There’s been some concern regarding the treatment of the children of the Israelites.”

“Is that so?” Crawley arched an eyebrow in response.

Aziraphale smiled wanly. “So it would seem, yes.”

“Are you here to stop them from killing any more of the children,” he asked, narrowing his eyes, “Or are you here to help move things along?”

“I’m sorry about that. I know the words would fall hollow for your ears, but I wish I could convince you it was true,” Aziraphale said as he looked down at his hands.

“That doesn’t answer my question, Aziraphale. What is Heaven’s purpose with those children?”

“It’s just one child. There is a woman, Jochebed—”

“What about her,” the demon growled, pressing dangerously close to the angel, his eyes wide and menacing.

“I’m to find her so that her son may be saved, and in turn, save her people.” Aziraphale met the demon’s gaze with a mixture of remorse, hope, and fear.

“And just how are you going to do that?” Crawley’s eyes relaxed, but he didn’t move away. Aziraphale was certain the only thing keeping his rapidly beating heart from bursting from his chest was the demon pressed against it.

“She will lose her son, but he will not die. He is to be set in a basket to be thrown into the river, but the basket will be different. She will treat it in such a way that it will float. She will do this at a time when the Pharaoh’s daughter will be able to find him, and claim him from the water.”

Crawley stepped back, looking Aziraphale up and down. “Where are you staying?”

Adjusting his robes, he replied, “I’ve only just arrived. I haven’t yet—”

“Come with me,” Crawley interrupted, immediately setting off.

“Where are we going?” Aziraphale was struggling a bit to keep up.

“To the palace,” the demon replied casually.

“Are you going to hand me over to the authorities?” Aziraphale asked, stopping in his tracks.

Crawley turned around, walking back towards him. “I’m going to arrange for your room to be readied and a meal prepared.”

“_You’re _staying at the palace?”

“Of course I am, angel,” the demon replied, gesturing towards his serpentine-slit eyes as he grinned and winked. “They think I’m Apophis.”

Aziraphale tilted his head in confusion. “Apophis? Who is that?”

“No idea,” the demon mused, toying with one of his many golden bracelets, “But he has _lovely_ accessories.”

Once at the palace, the two went to the demon’s chamber to wait for preparations to be made for the angel’s stay.

“I felt bad for how we left things, after…” Aziraphale began once they were alone.

Crawley briefly eyed him warily, then softened. “It wasn’t my best moment, either, if I’m being honest about it,” the demon said. “I don’t… _regret_ doing what I had to do, but it probably wasn’t fair for me to put that all on you. You had a job to do,” his eyes cut sharply to meet those of the angels, “Even if it were a despicable one. But,” he said, sighing as he threw his hands up in acceptance, “We’re just going to have to accept that there will be times that our respective head offices might have agendas that are diametrically opposed to one another or even ourselves.”

Aziraphale smiled for what felt like the first time in over a thousand years. “Yes, jolly good, thank you.”

Crawley poured two cups of wine and handed one to Aziraphale. “Have you ever tried this? It’s called Shedeh. It’s really quite delicious.”

His eyebrows rose as he took a sip. “Oh, that _is_ good. What did you call it again?”

“Shedeh,” the demon leaned in to whisper conspiratorially. “But let’s keep that our little secret, shall we?”

Aziraphale leaned in, holding his cup out for more. “Why?”

“Strictly speaking,” Crawley said as he refilled both cups, “Certain people aren’t supposed to have it. Royalty, divinity, people like the Pharaoh and that Apophis fellow. Something about it resembling blood and mortality, and whatnot.”

Aziraphale nodded from behind his cup.

_I’ve missed you._

“So,” Aziraphale began, putting his cup down. “What have you been up to since last we spoke? Anything of interest?”

Crawley was quiet as he looked down and swirled the liquid in his cup. “Oh, you know, not much. Left the boat, found homes for the survivors, buried the rest. Got recalled to Hell for a bit, right after that. You know how it is with reprimands.” He sniffed nonchalantly. “Then made my way here.”

“But that was 1500 years ago. How long have you been here?” Aziraphale’s eyes were wide with concern.

_What did they do to you?_

“About a year.” The demon’s eyes were closed as he finished his drink and poured another. “Joke’s on them, though. That reprimand didn’t take.” He took a sip.

“What do you mean?”

The smile that flashed across the demon’s face held no mirth. “Well, it appears that I didn’t learn a thing.” He locked eyes with the angel. “I’ve been saving the kids that get tossed into the river.”

_You really are wonderful, you know. It isn’t fair that you would be punished for being kind._

_It isn’t fair to you that you’re do **my** job better than I’m capable of doing._

_None of what has happened to you is fair._

Aziraphale, who had not previously been paying attention beyond the demon in his own thoughts, straightened up in his chair as a young woman entered the chamber.

“The room for your guest will be ready within the hour, your Majesty,” she said to Crawley as she rubbed her obviously pregnant belly. “Your supper will be served forthwith.”

“Ah, yes, very good. Aziraphale, this is Jochebed.” The demon grinned. “She and her husband are my personal servants here in the palace.”

The two would cross paths many times over the next several centuries. Many locations, both on the job and off, slowly but surely rebuilding the damage that had been caused by the flood.

Aziraphale sat enraptured as he watched the horse races at the Olympic games. He had watched the very first Olympic games with Crawley years ago. It had become a bit of a habit for them to attend together.

“Hello, Aziraphale!”

_I will never grow weary of that._

“Crawley,” he smiled, patting the seat beside him.

“Ugh, horses,” the demon groused as he sat down.

“No one is asking you to ride one, my dear,” the angel replied, trying to hide his grin behind a grape.

“No, I suppose not,” the demon conceded. “Listen, I wanted to talk to you about something.”

Aziraphale turned to face him, tilting his head to the side as his eyebrows went up slightly, a look he would perfect in later centuries. “What’s that?”

Crawley, upon seeing the expression on the angel’s face, grinned and looked up, his cheeks flushed a bit, as he covered his face in his hands. He shook his head, laughing quietly while biting his bottom lip.

_You look as you did back in the Garden when you smile like that. I miss it, sometimes. Do you? Things were so much simpler back then._

“Oh, angel, you are going to be the _death_ of me,” Crawley huffed affectionately.

_Don’t say that._

“Right,” the demon said, attempting to compose himself. “Okay, I wanted to let you know that I’ll be heading to Nineveh for a bit. Might be out of pocket for a few years, but I don’t want you to worry.”

“Is everything quite all right?” The angel worried anyway with a further tilt of his head.

“Yes, oh, yes. Quite all right, indeed, angel,” the demon assured with a smile and a deepening blush.

“What is it?”

“It’s a surprise,” he said with a wicked grin.

“More of your demonic work, no doubt,” Aziraphale scoffed playfully.

The demon tilted his head, rubbed the back of his neck and said with a slight pout as he looked around, “You could say that. But don’t worry, everything’s going to be just fine.”

“If you say so,” Aziraphale muttered with a half grin before settling back down beside Crawley to enjoy the rest of the equestrian events.

It had been ten years since the last time they watched the Olympics together, and Aziraphale was excited to have an upcoming assignment in Nineveh. _I do hope you’re still there,_ he thought. _I’ve missed you terribly. Though the years have been few, I felt every second of every one. But you were smiling when last we spoke, and the memory of your face held me and kept me whole._

With a smile on his face, he finished packing supplies and set off on his journey.

He had just made his way into the city when he found a tavern and went inside to rest and gather information.

“Hello, Aziraphale,” a voice whispered in his ear.

_You’re here._

“Crawley,” he breathed, only barely resisting the urge to lean into the demon behind him.

“When did you get in? Have you been here long?” Crawley asked, still behind Aziraphale, head over his shoulder. He reached his arm around Aziraphale to pick up the angel’s cup and take a sip.

Aziraphale stared at the cup as Crawley put it back down, wondering where the demon’s lips had touched it based on where his thumb had been placed. _Would it be too soon to pick it up and take a sip of my own?_ He swallowed thickly before he spoke. “I’ve only just gotten in, actually. I stopped here first to get my bearings.”

“Is that so?” The demon slid around to sit next to the angel, leaning back on his elbow against the table. “How long are you here?”

“Not sure,” the angel replied. “I haven’t received my orders yet. I was only told to make my way here. I suspect it may be a few days until I know more, but it could be as early as tonight.” He hesitated slightly before reaching for his cup.

“Well, nothing’s going to get me down today. You’re here and that’s what’s important. Have you found a place to stay?”

“I’ve only just sat down. I haven’t yet had a chance to ask around about lodging.” Aziraphale took a drink.

“That settles it, then,” the demon said, lazily taking the cup from the angel’s hand for another sip. “You’ll stay with me at the palace.”

“What is it with you and palaces, anyway?” Aziraphale turned to look at him questioningly.

“I know what I like,” the demon said with a sultry grin.

“Are you hungry?” Aziraphale asked, feeling a bit braver as he took the cup back from Crawley for another taste.

“Nah, I only came in here to find you,” the demon replied. “But you should have anything you’d like. I’ll take care of it,” he said as he brought the cup, still in Aziraphale’s hand, to his lips.

After they had finished eating, which involved Crawley ordering nothing for himself, but taking bits both from Aziraphale’s plate and occasionally sneakily from his fingers, they headed towards the palace.

“I want to show you something,” Crawley said as they walked.

“What is it?”

“Do you remember me telling you about a surprise?”

“Yes.”

“You’ll see,” the demon grinned as they approached a gate along a tall stone wall.

Aziraphale gasped and stumbled as they passed through into the inner sanctum beyond the wall. He was speechless in awe at all of the lush greenery and verdant life around him.

_This is Eden. How is this possible?_

“Crawley, what is this place?”

“King Sennacherib wanted an extraordinary garden,” he explained, “So I gave one to him.”

They walked, hand in hand, through the garden as Crawley told him about all of the plants within.

“It’s beautiful,” Aziraphale whispered.

“The land belongs to the king, technically, but…” His voice trailed off as he brought Aziraphale’s hand to his lips. “But I made the garden for you, Angel.”

Aziraphale’s head jerked around with a gasp as he looked at Crawley with a mixture of shock and something he couldn’t quite put his finger on, but he wanted more of it.

“I collected seeds from across the land. I tilled the soil and planted the seeds with my bare hands. I watered them and tended to them. I watched them all grow and guided them into the shape most pleasing to you, into your very own Eden. I put my entire heart into every leaf, every fruit, and every petal. It’s all for you, Aziraphale. It’s all yours, every bit of it. You can do with it whatever you like.”

They walked through the garden, Aziraphale marveling at every fruit and flower, until it had grown dark and the stars lit up the sky above them.

Aziraphale trembled at the demon’s touch as he led the angel towards a small section of inner wall and sat them down.

“Do you remember my stars?”

Aziraphale nodded.

“Do you remember _your_ stars?”

Aziraphale’s breath caught in his throat.

Crawley leaned over towards the angel and pointed up. “You can see it from right here. The humans can still enjoy them, your stars and your garden, but we know who they’re for. Our little secret.”

Aziraphale wrapped an arm around Crawley’s waist and pulled him closer. His hand cupped the demon’s cheek, turning his head to press his lips against the demon’s own.

It has been said that forbidden fruit is as sweet as it is dangerous.

Crawley was the first to pull back, a dazed smile on his face. “I should… I should probably make arrangements for your room before it gets too late. You stay here. I’ll return soon.”

Aziraphale watched Crawley walk away until he passed through the gate. He smiled and closed his eyes, leaning his head back against the wall behind him. He was _happy_. Upon hearing the sound of a miraculous appearance, he sighed dreamily and opened his eyes again, expecting to see the demon who had just given him his entire heart before him.

“Gabriel!” He said with a start.

“Aziraphale, I’m pleased to see you’ve gotten a head-start on your directive,” The Archangel said with a smirk. “You’re already here.”

_Oh, no. Please, no._

“And what are my orders to be?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” Gabriel said, gesturing around. “The humans have gone entirely too far.”

“Too far?”

“Aziraphale, surely you recognize this. God cast the humans out of Eden. They aren’t allowed to create another one of their own. It’s sacrilege.”

“But surely it—”

“Burn it.”

“What?”

Gabriel’s violet eyes were cold and dull. “Burn it, Aziraphale. Burn the garden down. That's an order.”

_I can’t do this._

_I can’t stand this._

_I can’t stop this._

“Did you bring the supplies as you were instructed?” Gabriel asked with a cold half-smile.

“Yes,” Aziraphale replied, hollowly.

“Of course you did. I don’t even know why I bothered asking. You _must_ do as you’re ordered, after all. Let’s see them.”

Aziraphale nodded weakly as he unpacked his bag.

_Please don’t make me do this! Please! Oh, please! I don’t want to hurt him! You can’t! How can you make me **do** this!_

“So,” Gabriel clapped his hands together as he looked over the items Aziraphale had laid out before him. “Looks like you’ve got everything. You’re going to soak the cloth in the oil and wrap it around the stick to make your torch. No sense in you burning yourself in the process. Once you get the torch lit, a simple miracle should turn the water in the irrigation system into more oil. After that, all you really have to do is light it. The rest should fall into place. But you’ll need to stay until the last ember dies to make sure the job is done. Until next time.” And with that, he was gone.

Aziraphale was screaming on the inside as he began the process outlined by the Archangel. The tears flowed freely from his eyes as he wrapped the torch. He snapped his fingers and the water that had once brought life to the beautiful garden that Crawley had grown was now the volatile oil that would destroy it.

He gagged, emptying the contents of his stomach as he touched the burning torch to the oil.

The fire spread quickly, coursing through the irrigation system, circling around the wall and working its way towards the center.

Aziraphale’s pulse was pounding in his ears so hard he couldn’t hear Crawley’s panicked screams as the demon desperately tried to find the angel amid the smoke and flames.

The angel dropped the torch on the ground beside him and stood, sobbing, with his hands over his face in shame and sorrow.

And that’s how Crawley found Aziraphale, standing there. He saw the burning torch fall from the angel’s fingertips, surrounded by a decade of work to express his heart, his gift for Aziraphale that he created and cultivated with his bare hands, burning all around them.

“Aziraphale…”

“I received my orders,” Aziraphale choked out, gasping as another sob shook his chest.

Aziraphale would never, even in a million years, forget the heartbroken look on Crawley’s face as he watched the garden go up in flames.

“You broke it,” Crawley said hoarsely, his eyes scanning around the dead and blackened garden before him. “I handed you my… This garden, _your garden_… When I told you it was yours to do with as you like, I never thought...”

“I can’t disobey God,” Aziraphale said, weakly.

_I’m sorry! I’m so sorry! _

“Were they orders from God, or from Heaven?” As the demon’s voice broke, so, too did Aziraphale’s heart break further.

_Please, you don’t understand! I didn’t want to do this!_

Tears in his eyes, the angel stepped forward, reaching out to embrace the demon.

Crawley raised his hand to stop him, taking a step back. “God didn’t do this, Aziraphale.” His voice shook with a sob as he staggered away. “_You_ did.”

As Aziraphale was unable to leave until his orders were completed, he watched as the love of his eternal life left, broken and empty.

Like a _good_ soldier.

It was the last time Crawley intentionally sought out Aziraphale for almost 500 years.

_For all you knew of Hell, you never knew what I could put you through._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This almost got split into two chapters when it began to get away from me, but I decided that I couldn't split it apart properly without writing in more angst. I'm already doing enough damage to these two. No need to make it worse (well, worse than I already intended to, that is.)


	4. Take Ink And Weep

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When A Good Angel Goes To Egypt.

**Memphis, Egypt  
** **671 BCE**

Aziraphale searched for Crawley for a few years before deciding to try Egypt. He remembered how the people of Egypt were more open to the features of the demon that were uncommon among humans. It stood to reason he might have returned, if for no other reason than comfort.

It didn’t take him long for the stories of the man with hair of flame and eyes of gold to lead Aziraphale to Memphis. The angel scoured the city, listening with rapt attention to every story he could as he continued his search. There were as many stories about the man with hair of flames and eyes of gold as there were stories of the king’s otherworldly falcon with giant wings of ebony, eyes of a serpent, and tail of fire. Most of the stories pointed him in the direction of the palace.

_Of course_.

Within a few days, he was able to schedule an audience with King Taharqa for the following week.

As each day passed, he felt more and more as if he were being watched from a distance. Over the next week, there were several glances over his shoulder, seeing movement in his peripheral vision, but turning his head just in time to see nothing. On the day prior to his audience with the king, he felt a familiar prickle in his skin and waited for a greeting that never came.

As he entered the palace, he could have sworn he saw a flash of red and black duck down a long, dark hallway. Other than that, it was eerily quiet, in spite of the group of soldiers that had gathered in the entryway.

Moments later, a servant rushed up to him. “Forgive me, your grace, but it would appear that our Majesty will be unable to attend you this afternoon.”

“Why not? Has something happened?”

But before his question could be answered, he heard a loud noise as the doors to the palace came crashing down. Hordes of Assyrian soldiers had advanced throughout Memphis, converging on the palace. Aziraphale ran down the hallway where he thought he might have seen Crawley. The sounds of weapons clashing drowned out all of his attempts to call out the demon’s name.

He ran towards what he thought would have been the throne room only to be knocked off of his feet by a concussive burst of air as a dark blur shot past him through a window in a flurry of black feathers. The demon’s wingspan cast an umbra against the Egyptian sun. His fiery mane and dark robes whipped behind him like the tailfeathers of a phoenix. He held a wounded man in his arms and flew south.

Aziraphale had precious little time to marvel at the beauty before him as the attackers spilled out of the throne room and into the hallway.

**Waset, Egypt  
** **664 BCE**

Aziraphale followed stories of the _falcon with the eyes of a serpent_ that heralded the arrival of Taharqa to Waset.

The angel had only been in the city for an hour before he heard a voice he longed to hear speak his name in a tone that chilled him to his core.

"Aziraphale."

"Crawley," he spun around to meet the demon's icy gaze.

“Do you know what you’ve done?" He spoke in the calm manner of a serpent stilled and ready to strike. "They didn’t just take his land. They took his _family_, Aziraphale.”

“Who? What are you talking about?”

“The Assyrians that you and Heaven sent to take Memphis. Esarhaddon and his lot. They took more than land and title. I got everyone I could out of the palace before the attack, but some of the royal family and a few servants were still left when the army breached the walls. I grabbed Taharqa, but when I returned to find the others, it was too late.” There was a cold chill in his voice that belied the fire underneath. “What was the point, Aziraphale? What was it this time? Was he too kind to his people? Was I too comfortable in his palace?”

“I didn’t… What? No, no, if that was Heaven, it had nothing to do with me.” Aziraphale held his hands up defensively.

“Then why were you there when they attacked, _angel_?” He stalked close to Aziraphale, backing him up a few steps.

“It was a terrible coincidence.”

Another step back.

“Was it, though?”

And another.

Aziraphale visibly crumpled. “I… I don’t know, anymore.” He looked up at the demon sadly. “All I know about the attack is that I was not directly or consciously involved.”

Crawley was all but on top of him now. “Then _why_ were you _there_?”

“I was looking for you!” Aziraphale blurted out.

“I got that part,” the demon growled into the angel’s ear. “But did it occur to you that I might have wanted to remain hidden?”

Aziraphale fought himself not to lean into the demon. “Every time I close my eyes, I see your face.”

“And every time I see _your_ face, I’m reminded of everything I lost.” He sighed, breath hot against Aziraphale’s ear, and whispered, “_Everything_.”

The demon looked off to the side. “I’d almost prefer Hell caught up with me than go through that again,” his voice spoke quietly.

“Please don’t let Hell take you, not again.”

“That’s not really something I chose, Aziraphale.”

The demon took a step back away from the angel.

“But you _did_ choose,” Aziraphale said, adjusting and smoothing out his robes. “You chose it when you defied your—”

“My _nature_, angel?” Crawley glared. “Is that what you were going to sssay?”

“Your _orders_,” he said firmly.

“I didn’t have _ordersss_, Aziraphale,” he hissed. “I jussst did the right thing.” He looked off to the side, quietly finishing his thought. “A demon can get into trouble for doing the right thing.”

“And what if they destroy you next time? What then?”

For a fraction of a second, the obsidian-sharp lines on the demon’s face flickered to an ashen expression of longing. “Then I’ll never want for something I can’t have _ever again_.” The demon looked the angel up and down. “Probably be a mercy,” he said as he shrugged and disappeared into the crowd.

Aziraphale watched him walk away as the Assyrians launched their attack on the southern city.

Angel and demon alike ran through the city, making attempts to heal the wounded on either side, working their way through to minimize loss of life as best they could. They found one another towards the center of the city, surrounded in smoke and fire.

“Why do you keep doing this?” Crawley screamed.

“It’s not me! I didn’t do this!” Aziraphale pleaded.

_Why won’t you believe me?_

The fire burning the building beside Crawley had finally eaten through the support beams, causing it to collapse. Aziraphale rushed over to pull him out of the path of falling brick and stone, but didn’t quite get there in time. He was struck unconscious by a blow to the neck and shoulder.

Aziraphale felt a familiar prickle of divine energy from the south end of the city. He lifted the fallen demon into his arms and rushed off north to find a safe place for them to hide in the caves of the lower Nile valley.

Fearing what a miracle might do to an infernal being, Aziraphale tended to Crawley’s wounds as best he could with his limited knowledge of human medicine. He washed the soot from the demon’s skin, carefully making sure nothing had gotten into the open cuts that ran down his shoulder blade. The angel applied a poultice of herb and mud that he had collected nearby along the banks of the Nile, and wrapped it with clean bandage. As gently and tenderly as he could manage, he brushed out the demon’s hair into a braid, binding it up to keep it from getting in the way of tending to the gash behind his ear.

The angel stood vigil over the demon for several days.

When the Crawley finally opened his eyes, the first thing he saw was Aziraphale. The smile on the demon’s face was as bright and incandescent as Aziraphale remembered it back in Eden. The angel smiled back warmly, only to have the smile fall flat as the demon’s expression hardened into darkness once more as he began to get his bearings.

“What happened?” Crawley asked, rubbing his eyes.

“You were hurt. A building collapsed on top of you.”

“Where are we?”

“Safe, for now. In a cave along the Nile valley.”

“And the city?”

“I’m afraid I don’t know. As soon as you were hurt, I got you out of there. We’ve been here almost a week.” He poured water into a cup and handed it to the demon. “You were right, you should probably know. Well, partly. I knew nothing of the plans or details, but Heaven was involved.”

Crawley emptied the cup and handed it back with a wary expression. “If you knew nothing, how do you know who was involved?”

“When you were hit, I felt a divine presence. I turned around to see a squadron of angels being led by Sandalphon. They were fighting on the side of the invading army. I don’t think they noticed me, what with there being enough of them to mask any additional angelic presence. I had to get you out of there as fast as possible before they could sense you.”

“What’s a Sandalphon?”

“An incredibly violent Archangel. He’s new, but he’s making up for lost time,” Aziraphale answered, reaching out towards the demon, but pulling his hand back when it was met with a glare. “I’m sorry. I need to check your wounds.”

“Why?”

“You were hurt—”

“_I know that_,” Crawley said, heatedly as he sat upright across from Aziraphale. “I mean why are you _helping_ me?”

Aziraphale looked at him with sadness in his eyes. “Despite everything that has happened, I care very much for you.”

“I wish you wouldn’t say that,” the demon looked down.

“But it’s true,” the angel said, reaching a cautious hand up towards the demon’s cheek.

The demon hesitated, then leaned into the touch, closing his eyes. His hand came up to cover the hand on his face, holding it in place. “Just because it’s true doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt.”

He moved closer to Aziraphale, reaching his hands up to pull the angel’s face closer to his own when the angel leaned in and closed the distance between them. The demon trembled against the angel’s lips as they clung to one another for an eternity of never enough. Crawley’s expression contorted into something painful and strained as he pulled back. “It still burns,” he murmured.

Crawley stood up. He shivered as he healed the wounds on his head and back. “I can’t do this," he whispered with a shaking breath. He took one last, longing look at Aziraphale before turning his back to leave the cave and disappear into the darkness.

Aziraphale pressed his fingers against his own lips as if he could still feel Crawley there. He waited in the cave in case Crawley decided to come back.

He wasn’t coming back.

**612 BCE  
** **Canopus, Egypt**

Having not received any particular orders from Heaven since before Sandalphon’s sacking of Waset, Aziraphale found himself wandering aimlessly through Egypt from town to town, desperate to hear a familiar voice.

He had been staying in Canopus for the past few days when he decided it was time to move on. 

He headed back to the inn where he had been staying to make arrangements for vacating his room.

“Hello,” he quietly said to the innkeeper.

She looked up at the sound of his voice, her eyebrows raised. “Are you Aziraphale?” She asked.

He looked her over with a mixture of surprise and hope.

“If you’re Aziraphale, I have a message for you,” she said when he didn’t respond.

“I am,” he said. “From whom has this message been sent?”

“Didn’t get a name,” the woman answered as she walked over to a table with multiple tiers.

“Can you describe him, then?” Aziraphale was growing impatient as he watched her digging around as if looking for something.

“Tall, strange eyes—”

“Hair the color of flame?”

“That’s the one, yeah,” she said while rummaging around underneath the tabletop. “You don’t see that around here much.”

“So he’s here? Where is he? It’s very important that I speak with him.”

“He’s gone.”

“What?”

“Yes, he left at first light this morning.”

Aziraphale swallowed dryly. “Did he say where he was going?”

“No. He paid for your room and told me to give this to you.” She stopped pulling things out from under the table and turned around to dig in an alcove. “Seemed nice enough, paying your bill up for a week,” she said as she pulled something out and walked back to Aziraphale.

_Why does he want me to stay here for a week?_

The angel simply smiled, not wanting to get his hopes up.

She handed him a rolled-up strip of papyrus and went back to work. His skin prickled as soon as it touched his hand. He held it for a moment, just looking down at it, before going to his room to open it in private.

The angel sat on the edge of the bed, somehow both too impatient to wait and too terrified to act. _If it’s good, he thought, I should open it right away._ He reached towards the table and stopped short, bringing his hand back to hold it against his chest. _But if it’s not good, once I open it, it’s real. _He stood up to pace, staring at the rolled-up strip on the table as it taunted him by dint of existing at all. Squaring his shoulders, he took a deep breath, picked it up, and unrolled the papyrus.

His breath left him suddenly in a harsh gust when he read what was written on it.

> ** _It seems I can’t stay here anymore without being haunted by your celestial specter. It’s too much. Egypt is yours. I hope you take better care of it than the last thing I gave you._ **
> 
> ** **

Aziraphale reached behind himself to feel for the bed before sitting down.

“He didn’t want me to wait for him to return. He just wanted a head-start,” the angel said aloud to no one at all.

He stayed where he sat, unmoving, waiting patiently for the week to complete. Not because he was ordered, but because of the unspoken request behind it.

_I will give him this_, he thought_. I will stay. If this is what he needs, I will give him this, and he will be happy again. _

_I’ll stay here._

_He **will** be happy again._

_It’s going to be okay._

For the rest of the week, there were no movements from the broken soldier save for the tears that steadily fell from his eyes to the note in his hands, causing the ink to bleed and blur.


	5. I Must Go On

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A Good Angel Follows Orders

**Alexandria, Egypt  
48 BC**

An angel and a demon walked hand-almost-in-hand through the streets of Alexandria. They passed by a familiar-looking statue.

“Isn’t that—” Crawley began to ask before Aziraphale cut him off.

“It isn’t,” Aziraphale said, curtly.

“You don’t even know what I was going to ask.” The demon arched an eyebrow.

“You’re right,” the angel stated. “I don’t. Let’s go. We’re going to be late.”

“Where are we going?” The demon asked, glancing to the angel at his side.

“I haven’t decided yet,” the angel replied, eyes held forward, marching along.

Crawley smirked, but let the matter drop. This time. It wasn’t the first time they had this argument, nor would it be the last.

The two of them had reconciled a century past. Finding themselves on orders in the same location, they did as they often had in the past and shared residence.

For convenience, of course.

It was a rare afternoon that Crawley followed Aziraphale into the library to sit while he copied texts, which was fine with Aziraphale, as they both had duties to attend, and would see each other each night as they both returned to the room they shared. It came as a surprise when Crawley asked to accompany him to the Serapeum.

“I don’t really have anything on this afternoon,” he said.

“Well, my dear, you know you’re always welcome, but I’m afraid you’ll find it rather dull.”

_You just want to see if there are more statues._

“I doubt that, Angel,” he said with a smirk. “I’m sure I’ll find _something_ to entertain me in a temple dedicated to _you_.”

_Of course._

“Crawley, how many times do I have to tell you it isn’t me?”

“It is.”

“It’s not.”

“It’s you with a beard.”

Aziraphale was getting mildly irritated. Again. “Do you want to come along or not?”

“Yes, please,” the demon replied meekly.

They had no sooner walked inside before Crawley was near doubled-over, his laughter echoing throughout the Serapeum.

“Stop that,” Aziraphale reprimanded. “People are _staring_.”

“Oh, Angel,” he tried to speak but it was mostly incomprehensible wheezing.

“I know what you’re thinking,” he said to the demon.

“And you’d be correct!” Crawley was beginning to regain his composure, though his shoulders were still shaking while looking back and forth between Aziraphale and the center of the room with delight. It smoothed all the harsh lines in his face out into something much younger, more innocent.

_It is incredibly frustrating for you to be so beautiful and joyous in a moment that I would like very much to throttle you._

“I’ll have you know, my dear, that _this_,” Aziraphale pointed to the statue in the Serapeum as he looked around to make sure no one was within earshot, “Is a statue of _Pluto. _Ptolemy found it in Greece and brought it here. He wanted to manufacture some sort of deity ideal.” Aziraphale closed his eyes, waving his hand in the air slightly as he spoke. “Something about bridging the gap between the Egyptians and the Greeks. Anyway, it’s not me. I’ve never even _been_ to Greece.” Aziraphale looked quite pleased with himself.

“Oh, you can argue with me all you want to, Aziraphale, but I know my own work.” The wattage of demon’s grin practically filled the entire room.

“What are you saying?”

“I’m saying this statue _of you,” _he poked his finger at Aziraphale’s chest, _“_Was _stolen_ from Pontus, and I know that, because that’s where _I_ was," he pointed to himself, "when _I sculpted it_!”

Aziraphale scoffed. “You didn’t make that.”

“I did! Look, see, right there. Look at his feet. Doesn’t that snake look familiar?”

Aziraphale rolled his eyes.

“If that’s me, then why does it have long, shaggy hair and a beard to match?”

“Because you _had_ long shaggy hair and a beard to match at the time!”

Aziraphale’s eyes widened. “How did you know that? I only had a beard once, and you never… We hadn’t seen one another for centuries then. I stayed here in Egypt, so that you could…” His voice trailed off.

A look of guilt crossed the demon’s face as he turned his head, trying not to let the angel see. “I know you did,” he said quietly.

“How? Were you in Egypt then?”

_I waited for you. Did you see that? I tried to give you what you asked for. I tried to make you happy. Did you see?_

“Not on purpose. Never on purpose. But occasionally I’d have an assignment somewhere close to you. I may have checked on you a few times, when we were in the same city, to see how you were doing… To see how _I _was doing, sometimes. To see if I was ready to… If I was able… Well, anyway, sometimes it still hurt too much to see you, so I’d go. And then there were times, like that, when I thought it would hurt you more to see me.” He looked up at the angel with apologetic eyes. “I wanted so much to see you again, but I didn’t know if I was ready, and you were so sad then. I could see it.” He leaned in, pressing their temples together. “I missed you so much, but I didn’t want to hurt you again.”

Aziraphale thought back to all of the years he had spent here previously, before Crawley came back in to his life. He wondered how many times they had been assigned to the same area before, a century prior, he had _finally_ heard the most beautiful words ever spoken to him once again.

_“Hello, Aziraphale.”_

He thought about how grateful he had been that Crawley had returned to him, tentatively at first. Gradually over the past century, they fell back into their previous rhythm. He felt so much _better_ with Crawley.

The half-millennia prior had been near-unbearable.

He had all but given up completely a couple of centuries in. Though he refused to leave Egypt, he had also stopped taking care of himself. He no longer took joy in the things that once had pleased him. His hair had grown long and unruly, eventually blending into his unshaven face. He rarely moved at all outside of Heavenly Directives. Mostly he simply sat, waiting, occasionally looking up into the stars, lost in his thoughts.

When he had been given orders to travel to Alexandria, that began to change.

He thought about the hundreds of thousands of pages he had copied over the years, trying to stuff words and knowledge into the demon-shaped hole within himself.

At first, it had been a welcomed distraction, a way to temporarily leave himself behind and focus on the work itself. And it was _good_ work. Heaven had finally given him an order that felt _right_. Collect the writings and teachings of the humans as fully and completely as possible into one centralized location. It was simple enough. And when some of the humans relented in parting with their books and scrolls, he found he could fulfill his orders by creating new copies of the works in exchange for the originals. This idea pleased the humans, for the most part, and between the power of Ptolemy and the urging of Demetrius, he was given an entire team of scribes to assist in the collection of literature for the library. The team of scribes continued to renew itself decade after decade, as human lives were so tragically temporary. But as he had begun to collect more and more of the rich and colorful written history of the humans he was here to protect, he found himself falling in love with humanity even more. It was incredible how creative they were, as a whole. He learned of their hopes and dreams, their fears, and the things they loved most. He learned of humans he had never met, long since passed, and it was as if they were alive all over again

_This is beauty. This is their legacy_, he had thought many times over._ How privileged I am to be a part of it, to be charged by Heaven with protecting it like this, to store and preserve it away for the many generations to come to appreciate and enjoy it._

It healed something in him, these writings. He still felt part of himself was missing without Crawley, but he felt as if he were getting better. He was finally building something up instead of tearing it all down. This library, and every work he had carefully placed within it, helped him to become something more deserving of love, more deserving of Crawley.

He had been sad to leave it so many years ago, but the sadness didn’t consume him in the same way losing Crawley had. He felt _good_ about the work he had done, and good enough to start taking care of himself once more. When he received the next set of orders from Heaven, he found himself more hopeful about things. He could once again trim his hair, shave his face, and ensure his clothing was in tip-top condition. He was still far from whole, but he was more fulfilled than he had ever been without a certain demon next to him, and that feeling gave him strength. He had every intention of returning to the library whenever he could.

When Heaven sent him back to Alexandria, he was joyful. When he found Crawley was also there, and happy to see him, he was ecstatic.

He delicately traced his fingertips up along the sides of the demon’s face. “The library will still be here tomorrow,” he whispered into Crawley’s ear. “Let’s go home.”

That night, after too much good food and wine, they celebrated the joy they found with one another, with life, and with Earth. They stayed up, wrapped within each other, talking about anything and everything, never wanting the night to end.

As he nodded off, right on the cusp of asleep and awake, he could almost make out Crawley’s voice next to his ear.

“I love you.”

_I love you, too_, he thought, as he drifted into dreams of a demon.

The screams woke them in the middle of the night.

After the initial assessment of what was happening, the two separated to attend to their assignments, with a promise to meet back at dawn.

“I… I have to fix this,” Aziraphale said, looking around at the smoldering ruins.

“I can’t stay, Angel. I… I’ve been called away,” the demon said, stroking the curls back from the angel’s face with increasing distress.

Aziraphale gasped. He felt sick to his stomach.

_Please tell me you didn’t… You wouldn’t do this. You **couldn’t**. You’re better than this._

_Better than me._

“Did, did Hell—”

“No!” Crawley’s face went slack in panic. “This… I… I don’t know. This was never my assignment, I swear it. I wasn’t… I wouldn't... I didn’t…” He sighed in frustration. “I don’t want to go, to leave you here, but I must.” He took one last pained look at the angel’s face cradled between his hands. He pressed their lips together with gentle desperation. “I have to go now,” he murmured with shaking breath. With one, two, three quick but desperate brushes of lips, the demon turned and rushed away.

Aziraphale went inside to collect himself. Mere hours prior, he had been as happy as he had ever remembered being in all of his existence.

He sat down at the table across from an empty chair, resting his head in his hands.

_The Library is gone_, he thought_. Crawley is gone. _

_But Crawley loves me, doesn’t he? Did I dream that? _

_Does it even matter? _

_Everything I love goes away._

Aziraphale couldn’t feel any more hopeless than he did in that moment. Or so he thought.

“Hello, Aziraphale.”

Words that usually brought hope and joy to Aziraphale’s ears were tainted and corrupt coming from the Archangel’s mouth.

“Gabriel,” Aziraphale answered, uncovering his face and lifting his head to address his direct supervisor.

“You’ve done marvelous work here,” Gabriel said, sitting in the once-empty chair opposite Aziraphale, “And it hasn’t gone unnoticed.”

_Get out of his chair._

“Heaven is quite pleased with your progress here,” Gabriel continued as he pulled out a small box to place on the table.

“Is that so?” Aziraphale replied, staring through Gabriel as if he could somehow still see Crawley sitting before him, laughing like the night before.

The Archangel eyed him briefly before speaking. “Absolutely. You managed to create and fill an entire library to collect the information these humans have been trying to spread. Though the statues leave something to be desired.”

“Those aren’t…” Aziraphale smiled and laughed nervously. “They aren’t really _me_.”

“Relax, Aziraphale. Heaven doesn’t hold that against you. Consider it a necessary part of the plan.”

“The plan?”

The Archangel’s laugh was cold and empty. “The plan to stop the spread of all of that information. The humans have grown too bold, reaching for concepts they can’t possibly understand. It’s dangerous, and you’ve done well to put a stop to it.”

“I have?”

“Of course! You set up the library, you collected the writings, you helped start the Populares movement, which brought the right people into power to get things…” The Archangel waved his hands back and forth, humming slightly before puffing out his cheeks with an explosive exhale. “Everything fell into place.”

Aziraphale tried his best not to allow any outward reaction to the gut-punch that was this new information.

_This was my fault. It was **all my fault**._

“We’d like you to continue the work.”

He was unable to catch and contain his expression before it wrapped around his face. “You what?”

“You’ll be in charge of rebuilding the library and restocking it once more. Just keep doing what you’ve been doing. We’ve been impressed with your ability to maintain it even when you aren’t actively here.”

_Ah._

“Keep doing what I’ve _been_ doing, then?” Aziraphale asked, cautiously.

“Humans may be delicate, but the seem to do what you ask of them with great efficiency,” the Archangel replied.

“Yes, quite. They’re rather helpful in that way.”

“That’s what we like to hear. You’re utilizing your assets well. Which reminds me,” he said, opening the box on the table, “You’re to be decorated for this.”

He pulled out a pair of golden angel wings and held them up to show the inscription underneath.

> ** _A Good Angel Follows Orders_ **

Gabriel leaned over and pinned the metallic missive to Aziraphale’s left shoulder.

“Now, remember, Aziraphale. You’re being recognized for excellence in duty, but this changes nothing. You still report directly to me. Do you understand?”

“I understand.”

“You will follow all orders I personally give you, both written and oral. Do you understand?”

“I understand.”

“Any other Archangel may give you suggestions, but you are only to explicitly follow my own orders. Do you understand?”

“I understand.”

“There is no one above me but God. Do you understand?”

“I understand.”

“Wonderful!” Gabriel stood, rubbing his hands together. “Excellent work. Keep it up!” And with that, he was gone.

The library would rise and fall many times more, but after this, never again would Aziraphale dare step foot in it himself, lest he be reminded of his role in Heaven’s reason for the destruction, and Crawley’s reason to fear him.

S_omeday, my love, someday I’ll find a way to make this all up to you._

_Perhaps Heaven doesn’t know most of the content of the library was made into copies that were given to the original owners before ever being placed here_, he thought._ I’ll just have to track them all down and do it again, protecting them myself, somehow._

_I had them gathered and copied before, after all. Gabriel **did** say to keep doing what I’ve been doing._

_A Good Angel Follows Orders. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The statue of Pluto that was stolen by Ptolemy and brought to Alexandria was real. It was part of a plot to combine Greek and Egyptian deities into the manufactured [ Serapis.](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Serapis)  
  
You can see the resemblance if you squint.  
  
The [Serapeum](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Serapeum_of_Alexandria) was considered the Daughter of the Library of Alexandria, which also held some of the library's contents.


	6. I'm Not My Own

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One rose, one feather, two soldiers, and a demonic moral compass.

**Jerusalem  
36 AD**

Aziraphale awoke to the gentle movement of fingers tracing along his face and into his hair. Keeping his eyes closed, he stretched and pressed himself closer to Crowley, settling his head on her shoulder to nuzzle into her neck with a quiet sigh that could have been mistaken for a soft snore.

“I love you,” Crowley whispered into his hair, pressing a kiss upon the top of Aziraphale’s head.

His eyes flew open.

_I **know** I heard it that time, _he thought._ But I bet she thinks I’m still asleep. That’s when she says it, when she thinks I won’t hear. I think. I’m still not quite sure about the other two times. Well, I hope she said it then. Should I say it back? Or would that scare her off if she thought I had heard her? Surely she knows, doesn’t she? I hope she does. _

_I should. I should tell her. I should—_

He felt her hands stop moving in his hair. Cautiously, he lifted his head up to see that she was already asleep.

“I love you, too,” he said, smiling down at her before curling around her again to go back to sleep.

It was nearly mid-day when the noises outside woke them.

They walked side-by-side from the burial site towards the home they shared.

“I should have been there,” Aziraphale said quietly.

Crowley tilted her head to the side. “You _were_ there, Angel. You did everything you could. You gave him more peace than most humans ever get.”

“I should have done more.”

“What more could you have done?”

“I… I just should have _been_ there. Maybe I wouldn’t have had to have done anything but be there and things could have been different. Or at least I could have taken away his pain when the first stone…” Aziraphale sighed. “I just won’t sleep anymore. I can’t risk it. What kind of guardian sleeps on the job?”

“One that’s over 4000 years old?” She said, trying to get him to smile. “Frankly, I think we could both use some rest when we get home. It’s been a long, terrible day, and I’d like to get it behind us as soon as possible.”

“I’m being serious here, Crowley. I just… I don’t think I’ll be able to sleep anymore after this. I can’t risk it.”

_Bad things happen when I sleep._

He was a few paces ahead when he realized Crowley had stopped walking beside him. He turned around to see her standing still, sad eyes looking off into the horizon as the setting sun behind her lit her hair into a fiery halo.

_You are breathtaking.  
I love you._

“Are you quite all right, my dear?”

She stirred as if surprised, eyes darting towards him in a watery half-smile. She moved to catch up to him and they continued walking home.

Crowley remained silent in the doorway behind Aziraphale as they entered their room. Both of their eyes landed on the glowing envelope on the table. Aziraphale looked at her while she looked everywhere but at him. He walked over to the table and sat down in a chair to open the letter.

“I’ve been given another commendation,” he said bitterly as he threw the letter down and placed his head in his hands.

“I’m so sorry I dragged you into this, my dear. I—“ he stopped abruptly when he lifted his head and opened his eyes to find himself alone.

“Crowley?” He stood up, looking wildly around the room. He saw a rose and a black feather next to the bed. Instantly, he ran out the door into the night. As he entered the darkness, trying desperately to adjust his eyes to the shadows that hid everything from him, he called out to her again. And again. And over and over again, each time growing louder and more desperate as he ran erratically back and forth, not sure which way to go.

It was almost dawn when he staggered back through the door, broken, hoarse, and angry at everything.

“Just leave, that’s what you do!” His voice popped and cracked as he yelled at the flower on the table and raised his fist in an attempt to smash the petals into oblivion. He hesitated and gasped a heavy sob from deep within his chest when he realized what he had almost done. The angel fell down to his knees. He pulled a light and a dark thread from the bed they shared. Twisting and turning with reverent and gentle fingers, he twined the threads together as one. He pressed the twine to his lips in silent sacrament before he bound together the rose with the feather. With a wave of his hand, these most precious of items, all he had left of Crowley, were to be protected from all harm. His skin prickled slightly as his miracle seeped into the demon’s feather, fading into a warmth that caused the jagged wound in his heart to ache further. Clutching the bundle to his chest, he leaned his head against the side of the bed as he sat alone on the floor and quietly began to weep.

He spent the next three years traveling from city to city searching for her. No matter where he went, no one had seen a woman matching Crowley’s description.

The year after that, he spent alternating between traveling in his search and near-blackout drunk.

**Rome**   
**41 BC**

His head was pounding when the fiery orange sunset light poured in through his window, rousing him from his stupor.

"It’s okay," he said to no one in particular, as he was alone in his room. “Not sleeping. M’drunk. Not asleep. Crowley would say it’s…”

_Crowley_.

His bottles all empty, he sobered up just enough to stumble out into the street to find a tavern.

“A _real_ soldier,” Aziraphale leaned towards the man next to him conspiratorially, “One _worthy_ of the name, doesn’t question. Acts without hesitation,” Aziraphale whispered, remembering what the Archangels had told him when he first left the Garden.

“They’ll want your blood, but you, you’re a human.” He slurred a bit as he tried to make his smile reach his eyes. “Oh, don’t look at me like that. That’s what you are. Only _you_ get to decide what to do with your soul. Did you know that? It’s your choice. You can… decide things.” Aziraphale motioned to the barkeep for another jug. He poured another cup for himself, and one to the soldier with a kindred spirit he had met tonight.

“You’re different, Cassius,” Aziraphale said quietly but fervently. He couldn’t get the image of the Archangels out of his mind. “They’ll exploit you, make sure you know you’re _less_. But you’re not less at all, are you?”

His grip was nearly enough to crush the cup in his hands as his thoughts turned to Gabriel. “It’s terrible what they all say about you, you know.” He took a drink, swallowing harshly before painfully choking out, “And the things he makes you _do_.”

Cassius stiffened, eyes narrowing as they looked Aziraphale up and down. He had no way to know the angel was talking more about himself. But neither did Aziraphale. Either way, it fit, and it resonated within Cassius.

“Oh, there’s nothing wrong with you,” Aziraphale reassured. “Nothing at all. You simply need a _change in leadership_.”

Shortly thereafter, Cassius and several of Caligula’s other advisors and guards had organized an assassination, stabbing the emperor 30 times, and murdering his wife and child. Cassius was tried for treason and executed by his own sword.

Aziraphale had unwittingly performed his first temptation.

He was certain was only a matter of time before he had to answer to Heaven for it.

“Hello, Aziraphale.”

Though he expected them, the angel felt he had been stabbed through the heart with a blunt staff hearing those two words come out of the Archangel’s mouth.

_Ah, right on time_, he thought._ You’ve come to dole out my punishment. Excellent. Let’s get this over with. I’m sure I’ll do quite well in Hell what with my ability to tempt to murder without even meaning to._

“Gabriel. To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“Such modesty! We just might make a good angel out of you yet,” Gabriel boomed in his signature over-confident manner. “Heaven is quite pleased with your work. That human, Caligula, he had to be stopped.”

Aziraphale did his best to hide his confusion.

_Was Heaven actually concerned with the well-being of the humans?_

“To think, a human calling himself God. Blasphemous! You did the right thing.”

_Oh, I see. That would explain why I feel so sick about the whole thing._

“Anyway, just wanted to check in with you and let you know that a commendation is going in your file for going above and beyond the call of duty. Keep this up, and you might find yourself welcome in Heaven again someday.” He winked a violet eye and disappeared.

Aziraphale needed to clear his head. Or possibly drink himself into oblivion. He would decide when he got to the tavern.

Once inside, he decided to try playing a game to see if he could collect his thoughts. If that didn’t work, he could just as easily crawl into the bottom of a cup from here.

_Crawl. Crawley._

“What have you got?”

_You’re here!_

Like a moth to a flame, Aziraphale was drawn to the voice he had been missing for the last few years.

“Crawley?” He caught himself, correcting his mistake. “Crowley? Fancy running into you here!”

_I’m sorry. I’m just so excited to see you. I’ll do better. _

“Still a demon, then?”

_Or perhaps I won’t. I’ve been on Earth for over 4000 years, and **that’s** what I came up with to say to you. No wonder you left._

“What kind of a stupid question is that? ‘_Still a demon?’_ What else am I going to be? An aardvark?”

_I deserved that._

“Just trying to make conversation.” Aziraphale smiled, hopefully.

_I need you._

“Well, _don’t_,” Crowley grumbled and turned back to his drink.

_I can’t help it. I’ve missed you. I don’t know what to do anymore. I’m so lost right now, and you’re the compass that leads me home._

Crowley sighed, his expression seeming to shift from reticent annoyance to vexed tolerance. “Cup of wine? It’s the house wine, dark.” The demon poured a cup for the angel.

“Salutaria! In Rome long?” The angel took the cup, lifting it in salute.

“Just nipped in for a quick temptation,” the demon replied, tapping his own against it.

“Tempting anyone special?” Aziraphale hid his grin behind his cup as he took a drink, never taking his eyes off of the demon.

_You are so beautiful. I would climb the tree that is you and delight among the leaves in your laurel bow. I would take you apart curl by curl until—_

“Emperor Caligula, but it doesn’t look like he needs any more tempting now, not that he really needed any before.”

Aziraphale went pale.

“No, I suppose not. Not anymore, anyway.” He took a nervous sip from his cup.

“What are you up to while you’re in Rome?” Crowley asked with a polite distance.

_I’ve been desperately searching for you for you for the last few years. When I couldn’t find you, I may have possibly had a bit of a breakdown and accidentally tempted someone into gathering a group together and stabbing the man you were supposed to tempt. Stabbed him 30 times. Then they murdered his family. Got a commendation for it, too. Didn’t even ask me to do it. Just did it out of the goodness of my wicked and wanting heart. As one does._

“I thought I’d go to Petronius’s new restaurant,” the angel quickly replied. There was no need to bring the ugly truth into this. “I hear he does _remarkable_ things to oysters.” Aziraphale was so happy to simply be talking to Crowley that he would have been beaming over any topic.

“I’ve never eaten an oyster,” Crowley replied coolly as he took a sip from his cup.

_Is that an invitation? Please let that be an olive branch. _

“Let me tempt you to… Oops, that’s your job, isn’t it?”

The faintest hint of a grin spread across the demon’s face, lighting Aziraphale up from the inside out.

After they had finished their wine, the angel and the demon were walking close at hand.

They sat together at Petronius’s restaurant, full-up on oysters, talking almost, but not quite, as if nothing had ever happened.

“Do you remember when we watched the chariot races at the Olympics?” Crowley’s eyes danced with delight.

Aziraphale smiled happily, chin on his hand, just listening.

_I have missed you more than I ever thought possible._

“The races, the Emperor held them _here_! They were here and I competed! Oh, you should have seen me, Angel. It was incredible, like, like flying without wings. If ever they hold them again, you’ll have to try it.” Crowley was so incandescent in the joy of his memory.

_I would have liked to have seen it, but if I tell you that now, you’ll stop smiling._

“It was an incredible time. This was back before he, well, you know.” His expression darkened slightly, remembering how drastically Caligula’s behavior had changed after he had been sick a few years prior. “And it just kept getting worse with each passing month and year.”

_He’s gone now, though. He won’t be hurting anyone else, which is good, but… I’m still responsible. I’m responsible for **all** of their deaths, Caligula, his wife, his daughter, and even Cassius and the others. And this time, Heaven didn’t even tell me to do it. They were happy with it all the same. _

_I shouldn’t try to justify any of this._

_This is why you keep leaving._

“I couldn’t take any more of it, really,” Crowley explained. “But you know me,” Crowley said, taking a sip from his cup. “Haven’t got the stomach for killing. Now mayhem, that…” he grinned, putting his cup down and tilting his glasses down to look Aziraphale in the eye. “Give me enough time and I’ll create a spectacular mosaic of mischief. I’m an artist, really.”

“What did you do?”

_You’ve been in Rome this whole time, I believe. If only I had come here first._

“Seashells, Angel.” His voice rumbled with unsuccessfully suppressed laughter. “He went to wage a pointless bloody war and I made him come back with _seashells_. Just a bunch of soldiers out on the beach picking up seashells instead of murdering, looting, and plundering.” Crowley’s face lit up with delight as he finally let the laugh he had tried to hold in out into the space between them. The lines on his face arranged themselves into something distantly familiar that caught Aziraphale’s eye.

_You gentle demon. You look so innocent and happy right now, like you did in Eden. I think I was **in** love with you then, you should know, but I didn’t understand it enough before the humans gave it a name. You are so beautiful. Your heart is warm. How could anyone **ever** find you evil?_

“Shame about all of the killing, really. But you know how humans can be. Leave them alone for a few minutes and they just start murdering each other in newly depraved ways. Only so much we can do.”

Aziraphale flashed a forced smile before hiding it behind a cup.

_Only so much._

Aziraphale had never killed anyone, not directly, anyway. But he remembered every single light he ever had a part in extinguishing. He saw their faces in his dreams. If he hadn’t already made the decision to stop sleeping intentionally, the nightmares might have been enough to keep him awake.

Crowley had been Damned by Divine Wrath because he asked why. Aziraphale had been Damned by Heavenly Commendations because he didn’t.

Like a _good_ soldier.


	7. It's Not My Choice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Arrangement

**Wessex  
537 AD**

“What are you doing here?” Crowley sat up from his pile of blankets and furs as he saw Aziraphale’s hooded head poking through the flap in his tent.

“Well, it’s not as if the _Black Knight_ can just go traipsing up to the castle, now, is it?” The angel replied, pulling off his cloak and cowl, folding them neatly.

“How did you get past the guards?”

“I almost didn’t,” the angel grinned. “You’ve trained your people well. I nearly came away with my head in my hands until the gent from this afternoon recognized me and remembered that you said you knew me.”

“I thought you were angry with me,” Crowley replied, as he shifted and the curve of hip was exposed to the firelight.

The movement caught Aziraphale’s eye. “Not _that_ angry,” the angel said with a heavy exhale, pupils blown as he advanced on the demon.

The two lay together, clad only in furs and firelight, watching shadows flicker and dance in the night.

“Crowley, we’ve been through this. I can’t. I don’t get to choose to defy my orders,” Aziraphale sighed.

“Everything has a loophole if you know how to look, Angel.” The demon’s eyes glowed golden in the dancing firelight.

Aziraphale couldn’t help but be momentarily mesmerized. Against his better judgement, he pursued that train of thought. “A loophole?”

“Yeah,” Crowley said quietly, moving to press his nose against the angel’s hair to breathe him in. “It’s a way to bend something without breaking it.”

_“It is not for an angel to bend. That is not your design.”_ Uriel’s words from millennia before rang through his mind. _“You will break and become useless, without purpose.”_

“_No_,” Aziraphale said, perhaps too loudly, as he pushed himself up to leave. “I’m not designed that way. I’ll break and become useless…”

_And Heaven will send someone else to take my place, someone who won’t hesitate to destroy you._

“Wait,” Crowley reached out, pulling the angel back down into his arms. “Please don’t go.”

_I have to._  
_I should.  
_ _I don’t want to._

Aziraphale sighed and settled back into the tangle of furs and demonic limbs.

_I can’t_.

“You don’t understand,” the angel began as long arms snaked back around him. “I told you, I was never a particularly _good_ angel to begin with, and they had to _fix_ me. I didn’t even know I was broken at the time.”

“Broken? How do you mean?”

“What kind of a soldier doesn’t fight?”

“Personally, I think that’s one of your better qualities as an angel, Angel,” the demon said as he nuzzled into the angel’s neck.

Aziraphale closed his eyes and hummed softly for a moment before he could continue. “I don’t have the capacity to disobey a direct order. Not anymore. Not since after the Rebellion when I wouldn’t fight.”

“What do you mean? What did they do?”

“It’s… sort of a programming, I think? A bit of behavioral modification. I’ve noticed when Gabriel gives me an order, he’s usually quite firm and specific. But sometimes he’ll word things in a certain way, and I can usually work around it, somehow.”

“Loopholes, Angel.”

“That’s what that is? How do you know?”

“Well, you’re an angel, so you probably wouldn’t have had a lot of experience with demonic contracts to begin with, but that’s sort of a _thing _I’ve learned to look for, to exploit any weakness in a contract. Present company excluded, most demons aren’t particularly creative. I can’t imagine Gabriel is any better.”

They held one another while they quietly considered the newly-presented information.

Crowley was the first to break the silence. “I thought something like that might have been what was happening. Well, not at first. At first, I didn’t really know _what_ to think. Especially after…” His voice trailed off as his gaze drifted towards the fire. “Well, it didn’t make any sense to me _why_ you would have done it. I spent a lot of time thinking about that.”

“I remember,” Aziraphale said quietly.

Crowley’s face was full of remorse. “Looked like you were hurt just as much as I was. I couldn’t see that at the time, though. But I think, eventually, I thought maybe _all_ of the angels ended up like that after the Rebellion.”

“No, not all of them.” He whispered. “Just me.”

_The only angel without enough Faith to follow orders. The angel so bad he forgot to Fall with the rest of the Faithless. A broken soldier._

_How did **you** Fall and **I** didn’t?_

Crowley pulled Aziraphale closer, trying to wrap himself as fully around the angel as possible, as if he could shield him from Heaven itself. “I’m sorry.”

“My dear, whatever are _you_ sorry for?” Aziraphale turned to face Crowley.

“For all the times you needed me.” Crowley kissed his forehead, “And I was too wrapped up in myself.” A kiss to the tip of his nose followed. “All caught up in my own misery,” he spoke the last against the angel’s lips.

_But I brought that misery. I did that to you._

“You have nothing to apologize for.”

“But I do, Angel, and I’m sorry,” he breathed into the angel’s ear.

“I forgive you.”

“Don’t say that,” Crowley growled softly, burying his face into the angel’s shoulder.

Aziraphale lifted the demon’s face to look into his eyes. “Then stop acting as if you hold all of the blame.”

Crowley turned his head away to hide the pain in his eyes as he opened his mouth to speak words that wouldn’t come out. He closed his eyes in thought for a moment before attempting to speak again.

“I could… I could protect you. Take your secrets and desires, and hold them close, wrap myself around them. I could be your armor.” Crowley took one of the angel’s hands between both of his own, holding it up to cast a silhouette in the firelight on the wall. He carefully folded the angel’s fingers closed, covering them completely with his own two hands to illustrate his point. He pulled their hands down to his lips, gently opened them up just enough to expose Aziraphale’s thumb, and pressed a soft kiss on the knuckle. “Only letting in what you want and need, Angel. Never let anything dirty your beautiful hands.”

_Even a flood wouldn’t wash my hands clean._

“If you don’t want to just send reports, then maybe we could share the work. The jobs would still get done, but that way you could choose. Let me take some of your heavier burdens. Besides, sometimes demonic assignments are fun. You might even enjoy yourself.”

“But what about you? I wouldn’t want to overload you and rob you of your joy.”

Crowley hooked one of his legs along Aziraphale’s, pulling them into a tighter embrace. “I’ve got all the joy I need right here with you.”

**Paris, France  
1337 AD**

“Hello, Aziraphale.”

_Crowley_.

“Thank you for agreeing to meet with me.” Aziraphale said, gesturing to the seat beside him in the dark corner of the tavern.

“What’s this all about? Why so formal?” Crowley’s brow furrowed as he sat down next to the angel.

“I need you to leave England and France for a while, and perhaps a few other places as well. I’m not quite clear on all of that yet.”

“I suppose I could go to Scotland for a bit.” Crowley shrugged.

“_No_!”

“Well, I _can’t_ go to Ireland, now, can I?” The demon sneered slightly.

“Well, no, I suppose not,” Aziraphale conceded, “But that’s not the point.”

“Then what _is_ the point, Angel? What’s going on?” Crowley’s voice softened. “What aren’t you telling me?”

“I’ve received new orders.” He looked down and away as the demon wrapped an arm around his shoulder under the cover of shadow. “There’s going to be a war between the humans. Well, several wars, actually, but the point remains, you must leave the area before I am off to Aquitaine shortly.”

“Humans are always going to war, Angel. What’s different this time?”

“Any demons found entering the battlefield are to be destroyed. Gabriel was quite specific.” Aziraphale turned to face him, holding the demon’s face between his hands. “You have to stay away, Crowley. You have to stay hidden. You have—”

Crowley interrupted him. “I can’t. Hell will come looking fo—”

Aziraphale pressed his fingers to Crowley’s mouth to silence him. “Hell won’t find out. I’ll handle your work as well as my own. I have a strong suspicion the orders will be the same either way. Regardless, it is _imperative_ that you not be anywhere in the area performing any sort of demonic work until this has all been sorted.”

Crowley started to move Aziraphale’s hand.

“Don’t argue with me, Crowley. I don’t like it either, but consider this part of our agreement. You might even get a commendation for managing all of your work while _besting me_, given the circumstances.”

The demon glared at him, but made no motion to move the angel’s fingertips.

“You can’t come anywhere near _any_ of this,” Aziraphale continued, sliding his hands back to either side of Crowley’s face, tracing the demon’s bottom lip with his thumbs. “It’s too dangerous to risk.”

“We’ll, we’ll figure something out, Angel. Don’t we always? There _has_ to be a loophole.”

“Crowley, this _is_ the loophole. I’ve thought a lot about this. Please, let me stop you _now_ so I don’t have to do something far worse to stop you _later_.” Aziraphale held Crowley’s face in his hands, pleading powerfully with a pout of his lips and a flicker of his eyebrow. “Do this… For _me_.”

_Don’t let me burn you again._

Crowley melted at Aziraphale’s expression. “You fight dirty, Angel.”

“For you? To keep you safe? Always.” He smiled warmly at the demon. “You old serpent.”

Crowley placed his hand on the back of Aziraphale’s neck, pulling him close, forehead to forehead. “Someday, I’ll take you away from all of this. I promise,” he said with a shaky sigh.

“Where would we go?”

“Anywhere you want to go.” Crowley pulled back just enough to look the angel directly in the eye. “I don’t know how yet, but I am _going_ _to_. I will. I’ll come up with a plan. You won’t have to do this forever.” He leaned in, transferring all the love he couldn’t voice from his lips into Aziraphale’s own. “You’ll be free,” he whispered into the angel’s skin.

_You ridiculous optimist. The only hope I have is to keep you safe. But if it brings you comfort to dream, I won’t be the one to stop you._

“Perhaps you can use the time you need to stay hidden to do just that.”

**Pyrenees Mountains**   
**1421 AD**

“It’s good to see you, my dear,” Aziraphale said as he sat on the edge of the bed, lifting the demon’s hand to his lips in greeting. “Things have been going, well, as expected, I suppose.” He reached into his pocket to retrieve a blade to pare the demon’s nails. He placed the hands back into the position he found them in before picking up a comb from the table.

Aziraphale did this at least once a month, sometimes twice in recent months, as he had for the past 74 years. He did this to check for any new Demonic Assignments as well as keeping up with Crowley’s care while he slept. After the first few decades, he realized he was doing it for a third reason as well.

“I miss you,” he said as he combed through the sleeping demon’s hair. “But this isn’t like the other times at all, is it? You aren’t really gone. Just asleep. You’re safe here, and in time, a few more decades, I think, this will all be over. You’ll wake up and say, _‘Hello, Aziraphale,’_ or _‘Angel,’_ or start wittering on at some nonsense about a lumpy pillow full of evil down from wicked ducks.”

The angel sighed as he carefully lifted the demon’s head long enough to fluff the offending item. “Doesn’t seem all that wicked or evil to me, though,” he murmured as he finished sorting the demon’s hair and fanned it out over the pillow.

It was easier this way, they had decided after the first decade. The wars kept expanding, more regions entering into the fray. Technically, if Crowley were staying in place, he wouldn’t be _entering_ a territory involved in the war if it sprung up around him. It would be a completely different thing, Aziraphale had reasoned. Another loophole. Still, Aziraphale had already moved him three times by now. He had hoped that hiding the demon deep within the mountains would be enough to keep any angels from noticing him.

“I’m sure it will delight you to know that I’ve done my level-best to throw a little extra mischief in here and there in between your assignments," he told the sleeping demon. "I know you’ve set a bit of a standard to your work, and I’d hate not to live up to it in your stead.” Aziraphale leaned over to pick up the dark envelopes on the table, opening them to read. “Seems simple enough,” he muttered while absentmindedly patting the sleeping demon’s knee with his other hand.

Standing up to leave, he leaned over to kiss Crowley on the forehead before tucking the envelopes into his coat, warding and sealing the door behind him as he left.

_  
I love you._


	8. While Black Spring Burns Deep

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You can lead a Good Angel to water, but you can't make him share.

**Soho, London  
1800 AD**

“We’re bringing you home,” Gabriel said with his trademark empty smile.

_Oh, no._

“Promoting you back upstairs,” Sandalphon added.

_I don’t understand. What’s happened? What has changed? If anything, I’m likely a worse angel than I was before. I haven’t received a commendation in ages, at least, not since…_

He thought perhaps they could discuss it, and the Archangels would see reason. There was a first time for _everything_, after all.

“I’m opening this bookshop on Friday,” Aziraphale stated, nervously. “If Master Hatchard can make a go of it, then I think I can really—”

“It’s an excellent idea,” Gabriel interrupted. “Whoever replaces you down here can obviously use it as a base of operations.”

“Use _my_ bookshop?” Aziraphale was aghast, though his face barely showed it.

_Oh, how very **dare** you._

Gabriel looked at him warily. “You’re being promoted. You get to come home.”

Sandalphon had been looking around, picking at drop cloths and sneering as he ran his finger along the edges of the bookshelves. “I can’t imagine why anyone would want to spend five minutes longer in this world than they had to.”

“Aziraphale has been here for almost 6000 years,” Gabriel said, looking over to where Sandalphon was picking at the edge of a table. “We must applaud such…” He paused and turned his cold, violet eyes back towards Aziraphale before continuing, “_Devotion_ to duty.”

Gabriel opened a box, offering it to Aziraphale. “And it hasn’t gone unnoticed,” he said with a smile that seemed to pull all of the warmth from Aziraphale’s blood.

“I don’t want a medal.”

_Not from you, never again._

“That’s very noble of you,” Gabriel raised an eyebrow.

Aziraphale saw, over the Archangel’s shoulder, the most beautiful sight. Crowley was at the door, hands full with flowers and a wrapped package, smiling with every bit of the warmth that Aziraphale had just lost and more, waving through the open door.

It was the _last_ thing Aziraphale had hoped to see in this moment.

_He’s going to order me to harm Crowley. _

“But only I can properly thwart the wiles of the demon Crowley,” he said, hoping his voice wouldn’t betray him and the Archangels would remain unaware of the demon’s presence just beyond the door.

Crowley’s smile faded as he looked between the two guests in the shop. He held up the box and silently mouthed ‘_chocolates_’ with eyebrows raised.

“I don’t doubt that whoever replaces you will be as good an enemy to Crowley as you are,” Gabriel said, coolly.

_He’s going send someone else down that will destroy Crowley._

“Michael, perhaps.”

_Michael_.

_Michael, who struck down Lucifer_, he thought. The blood in Aziraphale’s veins that had already been chilled was now turning to ice. _The same Michael who helped participate in… **fixing** me._

The movement in the doorway caught his eye once more as he saw Crowley’s horrified expression as he mouthed ‘_Michael? Michael’s a wanker_!’

_Stop distracting me while I’m trying to figure out how to save you, you beautiful idiot._

“Crowley’s been down here just as long as I have. And he’s _wily_, and cunning, and brilliant, and oh…” He looked directly into the demon’s tinted lenses as the faintest whisper of a smile tugged at the corner of his lip.

Crowley’s smile in return more than made up the difference.

_I can’t disobey orders._

_Orders._

_My orders._

_Protect the humans. Those were my first orders direct from God._

_Crowley protects the **humans**._

_Protect **Crowley**._

He fidgeted a bit as he dithered in the process of attempting to create the logical argument needed to reprogram himself and override any commands that might next be input by the Archangel.

_This is so much easier when Crowley helps._

** _Crowley._ **

** _Protect Crowley_ ** _._

Gabriel’s head tilted slightly to the side, breaking Aziraphale’s line of sight. “It almost sounds like you _like_ him.”

** _Protect Crowley._ **

Aziraphale, once more alert and aware of the conversation, quickly spoke. “I _loathe_ him. And, despite myself, I respect a worthy opponent… Which he isn’t, because he’s a demon and I _cannot_ respect a demon. Or like one.”

_I love him._

Gabriel seemed satisfied. “That’s the attitude I like to hear. You’ll be an asset back at head office, I can tell you that.” He pulled the medal out of the box and placed it around Aziraphale’s neck.

_It’s not enough to control me, but now you have to physically collar me as well?_ His heart sank as he looked out for one last glimpse of his demon only to discover he was nowhere to be seen. _At least I was able to draw out the conversation long enough to give him warning of what’s to come. I’d never forgive myself if he had walked up unaware and Michael smote him before his first footfall through the doorway. But I do wish I could have seen him one more time,_ he thought.

** _Crowley._ **

“So…” Aziraphale’s sadness leached out into his voice in spite of himself. “We’re going straight back, now? Before the grand opening?”

Gabriel mistook it for subservience. “Well, soon. We’re just going to stroll down to Cork Street to see my tailor.”

Sandalphon gave a little wave with forced cheer as the two Archangels left the shop.

Aziraphale sat down, glaring angrily with disgust at Heaven’s metaphorical collar around his neck.

When they later returned, Gabriel was wearing a new suit.

“So,” Gabriel boomed, clapping his hands together. “It looks like you’ll be staying put after all.”

“So, I’m… not going anywhere?”

_Has something happened? Have you found Crowley? What have you done with Crowley? **Where is Crowley?**_

Some of the items on the counter began to vibrate. Gabriel’s eyes narrowed slightly as he looked down at them.

** _Crowley._ **

“Earthquake,” Sandalphon leaned over to helpfully explain with a toothy grin.

Gabriel smiled back at Sandalphon genuinely, seeming not just satisfied, but pleased by the answer. The cold empty smile returned as he looked back at Aziraphale. “Change of plans. We need you here, in your bookshop, battling evil.”

Sandalphon punched Aziraphale in the arm, seeming oblivious to any tension between the angel and the other Archangel. “Carry on battling.”

** _Crowley._ **

** _Crowley._ **

** _Protect Crowley._ **

Gabriel, eyes pointed down to look at the medal around Aziraphale’s neck, then back up to lock on the angel’s eyes, his face expressionless save for a slight twitch at the corner of his mouth. “Keep the medal.”

“But I don’t understand—”

The Archangels were gone.

** _Crowley._ **

Aziraphale ripped the medal off of his neck, throwing it down, and ran out the door to look for Crowley.

** _Protect Crowley._ **

He found the demon, or collided with, rather, a mere few feet outside of the door.

“_Crowley_,” he breathed, pulling the demon inside of the shop, closing and locking the door behind them.

“Angel,” Crowley replied, an amused smirk on his face.

“As it turns out, I don’t have to go back to Heaven after all, Crowley. I don’t know what happened, but I’d rather not question it. I get to stay here, on Earth.”

“With me?” The demon grinned as he wrapped his arms around the angel.

“With you.” The angel closed his eyes and pulled the demon closer in an embrace.

“I can honestly say that I can’t tell you how happy that makes me,” Crowley murmured into Aziraphale’s hair.

_And not a day goes by that I’m not sorry about my part in that. I love you, too._

** _Protect Crowley._ **

“What’s this, then?” Crowley asked, leaning down to pick up the discarded medal from the floor.

“Oh, that’s the medal Gabriel—” He stopped mid-sentence, gasping softly, bracing himself slightly against the counter.

“Are you all right?” Crowley asked, his free hand out to steady the angel.

Aziraphale nodded slightly, reaching towards the medal before suddenly shrinking back. “I don’t remember taking it off.”

_I remember **wanting** to, but I couldn’t._

“Do you—” He made a motion as if to help put the medal back on.

“_No_! I mean… No, thank you. Would you please put it back in that box? If you would be so kind, that is.”

_I never want to touch it again._

“There’s an inscription on the back,” Crowley said. “A good angel follows orders,” he read out loud. “Huh.”

Something shifted inside of Aziraphale. “Read it again,” he whispered.

“A good angel follows orders.”

_Protect Crowley._

“Again, please.”

Crowley looked confused, but complied. “A good angel follows orders.”

** _Protect Crowley._ **

“Angel, what are you doing to yourself? This can’t be healthy for you.”

“Crowley, please. Just one more time.”

Crowley sighed and looked down at the back of the medal once again. “Fine, but I don’t…” He looked confused.

“What?”

“The words changed.”

“What does it say now?”

Crowley turned the medal around to show the back to Aziraphale as he said the words out loud.

“_A Good Angel_.”

**Soho, London,  
1861 AD**

“Hello, Aziraphale.”

_Crowley_.

The angel looked up from his desk to see a demon in a tall-enough-to-be-considered-vulgar hat smiling broadly.

“That hat is _obscene_,” Aziraphale scoffed.

Crowley’s smile grew so wide his back teeth were visible. “Well, you would know, wouldn’t you?” He gestured towards the door. “C’mon, Angel. I’m in a good mood and I’m taking you out.”

_You’re up to something, I can tell._

Aziraphale looked the demon up and down and scoffed.

“I’ll not take no for an answer, Angel. I’m taking you out and we’re going to have a lovely time of it whether you like it or not.” Crowley’s laughter rumbled through his voice as he spoke.

Aziraphale sighed with feigned disgust as he stood up, trying to hide his grin at the demon’s temperament. “What’s got you so excited?”

Crowley sighed happily. “Can’t a demon just be in a good mood without being up to something?”

“No!” Aziraphale said, incredulously.

“Point taken.” Crowley continued to beam as he grabbed Aziraphale by the hand and spun him around in the privacy of the bookshop. “Consider me an aberration, then.”

_You are ridiculous. You’re ridiculous, and I adore you._

“I do, my dear, every single day,” Aziraphale smirked, allowing the demon to pull him close.

Crowley wrapped his arms around Aziraphale’s chest, resting his chin on the angel’s shoulder. They stood together like that for a few minutes, just holding and being held. He let out a dreamy sigh as he took the angel’s hand. “Things are happening, Angel,” he murmured into Aziraphale’s ear. “Inspiring things.” He held Aziraphale’s hand between his own, bringing it to his lips to kiss the thumb. “I made a promise to you long ago, and I haven’t forgotten that.” Crowley hummed softly, closing his eyes as he nuzzled against the angel’s hair. “I fully intend to keep it.”

“So,” the demon slid himself around to stand before the angel, still hand-in-hand, “Are you ready to sup?”

“Where are we going?” Aziraphale asked wistfully, not wanting to release the demon’s hand to leave their sanctum in the bookshop.

Though it was only a half-smile, the demon was fully besotted. “Anywhere you want to go.”

**St. James Park, London  
1862 AD**

“Out of the question,” Aziraphale said, confused and afraid.

“Why not?” Crowley kept his face towards the water.

_How can you even ask that?_

“It would destroy you,” Aziraphale was stricken. “I'm not bringing you a suicide pill, Crowley.”

“That's not what I want it for. Just insurance.”

_What have I done to make you want to leave again?_

“I'm not an idiot, Crowley.” His anger grew with each word. “Do you know what trouble I'd be in if they knew I'd been _fraternizing_? It's completely out of the question.”

_We’re in enough danger as it is without you asking me to add to it. We’ve been lucky so far that we haven’t been caught. For all either of us know, Gabriel would order me to pour it directly on you. What then? How could you ask this of me?_

“_Fraternizing_?” Crowley spat out with a blend of anger and hurt.

“Well, whatever you wish to call it.”

_Don’t you act like some delicate flower **now**_, he thought to himself._ You’re the one willing to risk throwing **everything** we have away! You’re the one willing to risk… I can’t do this. I won’t. _

“I do not think there is any point in discussing it further.”

“I have lots of other people to fraternize with, _angel_—"

“Of course you do,” Aziraphale snipped sarcastically, interrupting him.

“I don't need you,” the demon hissed back.

_How dare you act as if you could be angry at **me** over this!_

“Well, and the feeling is mutual, obviously.”

_How could you? After everything we’ve been through,_ Aziraphale thought as he flung the note and stormed off, setting the paper on fire as soon as it hit the water.

_Of all the callous and unthinking stunts to pull, _Aziraphale fumed as he made his way back to the bookshop. _Do you have any idea what… _

“No, of course you don’t,” Aziraphale muttered out loud as he stomped along the street, glaring at anyone unfortunate enough to fail to get out of his way as he approached the bookshop. “You were asleep while I spent over a century doing both of our jobs and taking care of you to _keep you safe and unharmed, _you damned serpent.”

He huffed as he entered the shop, locking and warding the door behind him. He went to his desk and opened a hidden drawer underneath to retrieve a satin pouch. Reaching inside of the pouch, he pulled out the feather and the rose Crowley had left for him centuries ago. “Yes, _I know_ he didn’t ask me to do any of that,” Aziraphale yelled at the bundle in his hands as his eyes began to glisten. “But I had to. I couldn’t bear the thought… I…”

Taking a deep breath, Aziraphale sat down heavily in his chair. “I was lying, you know,” he spoke tenderly to the bundle in his hands, a watery smile on his face. “When I said I didn’t need you. It’s not true, not at all. I need you very much, my dear. Sometimes I don’t know how I could possibly love you any more than I already do, and then you go and do something as simple as smile at me…” He looked up, wiping his eyes as he let out a small bark of sad laughter. “That’s all it takes sometimes, and I’m back in the Garden on that wall looking at stars with you all over again.”

He brought the rose to his nose and inhaled deeply.

_How am I supposed to live in a world where you don’t exist? It’s less than an hour since I left you in the park and I’m already falling apart._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Parts of this were taken from the deleted bookshop opening scene as well as the script book.


	9. Through The Slush And Throbbing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A Knight In Smoking Tap Shoes and the Soldier of Soho wade through Holy water.

**London  
1941**

“Little demonic miracle of my own. Lift home?”

Aziraphale watched in awe as Crowley walked unsteadily through the rubble on the path towards a shiny black car.

_You still love me, _Aziraphale thought as stared at the demon, almost in thrall._ You came back for me. You beautiful, stupid, wonderful, reckless demon. You actually walked across consecrated ground just to save me a discorporation. _

Aziraphale’s eyes widened as he realized that Crowley was still stumbling even after clearing the rubble.

_You walked on consecrated ground._

“You’re hurt.” He rushed over to catch up with the demon, grabbing his arm and throwing it over his own shoulder before wrapping his arm around the demon’s waist to help him walk.

“S’fine, Angel. That’s us,” Crowley nodded, pointing towards the shiny black car Aziraphale had noticed moments ago. He opened the passenger door and guided Aziraphale inside, closing it gently. He held onto the sides of the car as he maneuvered his way around to the driver’s side door. He managed to get it open and slide into the seat with a grunt. “Bookshop?” He said nonchalantly through gritted teeth.

“Yes, please.”

Aziraphale might have been terrified by the blurred landscape that could be seen through the windscreen, but he was too distracted by watching Crowley’s feet at the pedals.

“Stop staring,” the demon said flatly, not looking away from the road.

“Admit that you’re hurt.”  
_You could have died, you idiot._

“Will you stop staring if I do?”

He glared at the demon so hard it was almost audible in his response. “No.”

Crowley exhaled loudly through his nose. “Right, got it. Terrific.”

Crowley jumped out of the car as soon as they pulled up to the bookshop. He rushed wobblily around to the passenger side to open the door for Aziraphale. “See? Everything’s fine!” He winced as he stepped back to pull the door all the way open.

“Everything is _not_ fine. You’re coming inside with me.”

“Buy me a drink first,” Crowley muttered.

Aziraphale shot him an icy look. “You’ll have your drink if for no other reason than to occupy your mouth with something other than speech.”

“You know, I really don’t feel up to arguing. I’ll just be popping along,” Crowley said, pivoting painfully back towards the car.

Aziraphale grabbed his arm gently. “Please, let me tend to your feet. I owe you at least that much.”

“You don’t owe me anything at all, Angel,” he said gently, leaning against the bonnet.

“Fine, but my books do.”

Crowley whined and shrugged as he pushed off of the car. “Fine. But just for your book’s sake.”

“For the books,” Aziraphale smiled as he wrapped back around the demon to help him walk inside and into the back of the shop.

The angel sat the demon on the couch and poured him a drink before he fetched his supplies. He brought a first aid kit, towels, a bowl of warm water, and a sponge when he returned.

He took off his coat, hung it up, and rolled up his sleeves before kneeling on the floor in front of the demon’s feet. Their eyes met as he reached for the demon’s foot. He arched his eyebrows in a silent request for permission to continue. Crowley nodded. Gently, with every bit of tenderness, he began to remove the charred remains of the demon’s footwear to reveal the damage beneath.

With a trembling of fingertips dipping into water and gentle lips pressed against pained skin, the bitterness of the last 80 years was washed away.

Cautiously, and with as much care as he could muster, he tended to the demon’s wounds. Each swipe of a sponge rinsing away scorch, each trace of a fingertip or soft graze of lips slowly turning the charred and cracked flesh into shiny, pink skin.

“I can’t fully heal this. It’s a holy wound,” Aziraphale murmured as he carefully applied ointment over the bottoms of Crowley’s feet. “But you should be in tip-top condition in a couple of days so long as we keep these wounds clean and you stay off of your feet.”

“I can’t make any promises about that, Angel.”

“I wasn’t asking you to,” he said as he slowly wrapped gauze around the tender skin. “Merely letting you know the plan.”

“Which is?”

“I’ll be keeping the shop closed for a bit, I think. You’ll be staying here where I can take care of you while you rest and heal.”

“Angel, I’m not sure if you’re aware of this, but walking up and down the stairs to your flat isn’t very conducive to staying off of one’s feet.”

“Leave it to me. Tonight, you were my knight in smoking tap shoes.” Aziraphale took Crowley’s arms and looped them around the back of his own neck. “Now, let me be your trusty steed.” He reached underneath the demon and lifted him, bridal style.

Crowley gazed up at him with a grateful smile.

Licking his lips, his voice low, Aziraphale leaned his head down to purr in Crowley’s ear. “Now let’s get you into bed and get those feet up, shall we?”

If Crowley had kicked his feet a few times as Aziraphale carried him up the stairs, no one could really blame him.

With Crowley wrapped around him the darkness, Aziraphale traced the demon’s facial features with his fingertips, committing the new, unfamiliar lines of his hardened face to memory.

_You’ve been through so much. There is a great deal of pain and suffering written here._

“I heard what you said about the Holy water not having any guard.”

Crowley exhaled loudly. “And?”

_Make me understand. I need to know why you want it._

“It’s too dangerous.”

_I need to know that it’s not for…_

“Foul play, Angel.” He lifted his head up off of Aziraphale’s chest to look him in the eyes. “We’ve already had this argument 80 years ago. And unlike _you_, I can’t stomp away to sulk.”

“_Sulk?!?_”

“That’s right, Angel. You ran off to _sulk_. It wasn’t enough that you threw both a fit and my note, but you had to set it on _fire_. If it hadn’t been so upsetting, I would have been _impressed_.”

“How did you expect me to react?” Aziraphale was incredulous. “You asked me for the means to end your life!”

“I told you before, Angel, that wasn’t what it was for. That was the furthest thing from my mind. Wasn’t even a thought.”

_I want to believe you._

“Promise me you won’t do anything stupid, Crowley.”

Crowley smirked.

“Oh, you know what I mean. Promise me you’ll stay away from Holy water.”

“I’m afraid I can’t promise that, Angel.”

Aziraphale looked at him with pleading eyes. He notched up an eyebrow, pouting slightly.

Crowley closed his eyes and groaned inwardly. “Look, I won’t make you a promise that I know I’ll break. But I can promise you that I have no intention of using it on myself. Does that help at all?”

“Well, some,” Aziraphale conceded. “But it’s still too dangerous. If you aren’t careful—”

“Careful? That’s rich.”

“What?”

“Did you know that it’s beneficial to maintaining your corporation to look both ways before you cross a bloody street?” He said, sarcastically.

“How do _you_ know how I cross the street? We haven’t seen one another in 80 years!”

“Er… Uh… Y-you, you haven’t seen _me_,” Crowley stammered. “But I’ve seen _you_.”

Aziraphale gasped. “What?”

“Uh… Y-yeah. Been keeping an eye on you over the years.”

Aziraphale pushed himself up on his elbow. “You _serpent_!”

“Right,” Crowley huffed as he rolled off of Aziraphale’s chest and onto his own back, yanking the blankets up and closing his eyes. “I’m going to sleep. Wake me up when you’re done pretending you’re actually shocked by that and we’ll continue this conversation.”

Aziraphale reached over and thumped the demon soundly on the bridge of the nose.

“**_YEOUCH!!!_**” Crowley yelped and shot upright, covering his nose with his hand. “I just burned my feet hopping along consecrated ground to get to you, took out not one, not two, but _three_ Nazis who had a taste for bookseller-blood, saved your _precious_ books, of which _you yourself had forgotten about_, let you _shoot twixt wind and water_, and you _thump me on the nose_ like I was some…some…”

“Don’t change the subject.”

“Oh, no, this _is_ the subject now, Aziraphale.” His voice was somewhat muffled by his hands as his fingertips rubbed his nose. “You’re still cross with me, aren’t you? If you hadn’t been in trouble tonight, I probably should have waited another decade or so before even _considering_ saying hello.”

Aziraphale was as shocked as he was sincere. “Why ever would you think I was cross with you?”

The demon’s eyes widened as he pointed to his nose and threw his hands up in the air.

Aziraphale rolled his eyes. “I mean before that.”

Crowley blinked and pulled his head back slightly. “Are you _at all_ aware of your own actions, Aziraphale? Because right now, I’m not entirely convinced that you are.”

“Are you really going to sit here, in my bed, after 80 years of silence—”

“Yes, I _am_! Have you forgotten _why_ that happened?”

“Because you asked me for Holy water.”

“And you were so angry that you threw a _fit_ about it and stormed off. And I wanted to give you space so you could cool off.”

“But I didn’t _want_ space, Crowley. That’s the whole point. I _need_ you in my life. If something were to happen to you, I don’t think I could…” Aziraphale looked up at the demon briefly before the quiver in his chin made him turn away.

“Hey,” Crowley scooted over closer to Aziraphale, pulling him into a tight hug. “We, we’re talking at cross purposes here, I think. I’m sorry, okay? I’m not sorry for _why_ I asked for it,” He said, rubbing the angel’s arms reassuringly, “but I’m sorry for how it made you feel, for putting that on you.”

“I hurt you, didn’t I? When I said that to you. I could tell, though I was too caught up in my own fear to really understand that at the time.”

“It did, but I thought about it later and… I… Well, it’s not bloody well fair of me to need to be reassured of what I mean to you when I can’t even tell you… Can’t say…“ Crowley let out a low, frustrated growling hum.

_I am so sorry. You must stop forgiving me._

The demon took a deep breath to compose himself. “The way you left, I thought you needed time before you would want to see me again. And, if I’m being honest, I needed a little time, too.”

“You weren’t entirely wrong,” Aziraphale said, leaning his head against Crowley’s shoulder. “But I missed you so much.”

“I missed you, too, Angel. I never meant for you to feel like this. Very much the opposite, in fact. It’s why I’ve been keeping up with you. I wanted to make sure you were safe.”

The angel lifted his head, meeting the demon’s golden starlight gaze with his own moonlit blue. “I want to make sure _you’re_ safe.”

Crowley kissed Aziraphale on the temple. “I know you do.”

“I’d do anything for you, Crowley. You do know that, don’t you?”

Crowley pulled him closer in affirmation.

“I still don’t know how much… I haven’t actually had any orders that I’ve really needed to circumvent since the last time Gabriel brought a medal. I’ve been going along with things to keep up appearances so he wouldn’t get suspicious. But at the same time, if he were to find out about us, about you, I… I really don’t know if I could… If I…” Aziraphale sighed heavily. “It’s too big of a risk for me to take. And even if I _could_ resist, there is an entire army of angels that wouldn’t hesitate in my stead.”

“I won’t ask you again.” The demon’s lips brushed the angel’s ear as he whispered softly. “Never again. I promise.”

“Thank you,” Aziraphale said quietly. He laced his fingers through Crowley’s and gave a gentle squeeze.

The demon let out a slight, noiseless laugh into the darkness.

“What?” The angel asked, looking up with a slight smile.

“I’m just thinking about your face tonight when you first turned around and saw me.” Crowley grinned, pressing his forehead against Aziraphale’s own.

“When I saw you tap-dancing down that aisle, I thought… Well, I didn’t know what to think, actually. Not at first, anyway,” Aziraphale said, quietly but fondly.

“No? You didn’t think it was dashing, debonair, and daring?” He tilted his head playfully, pantomiming the tipping of the hat he was no longer wearing.

“Crowley, you were squirming on your feet.” Aziraphale cocked his head in an affectionately patronizing manner.

Crowley’s voice shot up an entire octave. “For you! They were going to murder you, right there in the church!”

“Yes, I was there. I remember,” the angel said, mindlessly walking his fingers up the demon’s arm. “And while I do greatly appreciate the end result, the actual effort nearly put Fred Astaire out of a job.”

“You’re very mean. Has anyone ever told you that?”

“Just you, my dear,” Aziraphale replied, shifting position to grin at the demon below him.

“Good. I’d hate to have to drop a bomb on anyone else tonight.” Crowley wrapped his arms around the back of Aziraphale’s neck, pulling him down into another kiss.

Aziraphale shifted off and settled in next to Crowley as the sky outside of the window showed the first inkling of daylight on the horizon.

Crowley rolled from his back to his side to face Aziraphale, his hand reaching over to wipe a damp strand of hair back from the angel’s forehead. His face was looking in the angel’s direction, but the demon’s eyes were far away. “Don’t you ever just want to stop it all, Aziraphale? Aren’t you tired?”

_More than you know._

“I’m so tired, Angel. I’m tired of Hell, tired of Heaven, tired of Hiding, tired of_ everything.”_

“I can’t disobey, Crowley,” Aziraphale said, sadly.  
_I can’t risk them becoming suspicious and trying to fix me again, or worse, replacing me altogether with someone that would destroy you._

“I can’t live like this forever.” The demon’s expression nearly broke something inside of the angel.

_I’m the albatross hung about your neck._

“I know.”

_Heaven’s Mother send us grace. The nightmare life-in-death was me._

“I have a plan. Well, almost. There are a few missing pieces, but I’m working on it. Have been for a while now.” Crowley lifted Aziraphale’s hand in both of his own and pressed his lips gently against the knuckle of the angel’s thumb. “It might take a few decades, but we’ll get there.” He tilted his head to the side to look Aziraphale in the eye. “I promise you, Angel. They won’t have you forever. I’ll get you out. I’ll get you out, and I’ll take you anywhere you want to go. I’ll take on Heaven and Hell myself if I have to. When I’m done, you’ll never have to do anything you don’t want to do, ever again. Leave it to me.”

_I wish that were true, you ridiculous optimist, but it can’t be. There’s no escape. Only moments like this. Please don’t leave me behind. I can’t catch up. You are Fallen, but I’m still an angel. I belong to Heaven. I might no longer be chained, but I’m still restrained, and I fear I always will be._

_But I can’t lose you now. Not when I just got you back._

**Soho, London  
1967**

“Crowley, it's too dangerous. Holy water won't just kill your body. It will destroy you completely.”

“You told me what you think 105 years ago.”

“And I haven't changed my mind. But I can't have you risking your life. Not even for something dangerous.”

_Especially not for me._

“So, you can call off the robbery.” Aziraphale carefully handed Crowley a tartan thermal flask. “Don't go unscrewing the cap.

Even behind his dark glasses, Aziraphale could see the emotions swirling and churning across Crowley’s face. “It's the real thing?”

“The holiest.”

_Please never use it._

“After everything you said.” The softness in Crowley’s voice was a painful reminder to Aziraphale that the light inside of this demon should never be extinguished.

_I love you. You promised me you wouldn’t ask again, but in keeping that promise, you’ve put yourself at greater risk. _

“Should I say thank you?”

_If anything had happened to you, it would have been my fault._

_“_Better not.”

_And if anything happens to you now, it still will. But at least this way, I’ve mitigated the risk, at least partially._

Crowley pouted almost imperceptibly. “Well, can I drop you anywhere?”

“No, thank you.”

Crowley’s face fell slightly with a pout, as if he were trying, yet failing, to conceal it.

_I know you want this so much. I can’t just walk away from Heaven, and I hate that I keep breaking your heart because of that. _

“Oh, don't look so disappointed.” _And here I am, crushing your hopes again. Maybe you need hope more than you need me dashing it._ “Perhaps one day we could… I don't know, go for a picnic. Dine at the Ritz.”

“I’ll give you a lift, anywhere you want to go.”

Aziraphale suddenly remembered a time just over 500 years ago, when the demon had said the same thing:

_“Someday, I’ll take you away from all of this. I promise.” _   
_“Where would we go?”_   
_“Anywhere you want to go.”_

He thought of joyful embraces and promises remembered and renewed in the solace of the bookshop:

_“I made a promise to you long ago, and I haven’t forgotten that. I fully intend to keep it. Are you ready?”_   
_“Where are we going?”_   
_“Anywhere you want to go.”_

His mind raced back to a night, after standing together at the end of a church aisle when the bombs fell, lying next to one another in the early morning light:

_“I’ll get you out, and I’ll take you anywhere you want to go. I’ll take on Heaven and Hell myself if I have to.”_

Aziraphale yearned. He yearned and he longed and he needed.  
But this was not the time for that.

_ I know you would. You know I can’t, no matter how much I want to. Not while they’re watching. We still have to be careful so they don’t find out what we’ve done. They’ll never let you live, and they’ll never let me go._

“You go too fast for me, Crowley.”

_I can’t do this right now, _Aziraphale thought as he opened the car door.

The angel stood watch as the demon drove away, neither one seeing the tears in the eyes of the other.

_ I hope you’ll come find me again, sooner rather than later. I won’t last another 80 years apart. Whatever it is you plan to do with that, you’ll come back to me. You have to._

“Your light casts the rainbow above my flood,” he whispered to the disappearing back of the Bentley, standing in the flickering neon lights of Soho.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Parts taken from the script book and [ The Rime of the Ancient Mariner](https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/43997/the-rime-of-the-ancient-mariner-text-of-1834).


	10. Thunder

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Soldiering on through the last eleven years before the end of the world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> While I generally prefer to keep the chapters around 2000-2500 words, this one got away from me. I think it had a lot to do with trying to essentially fit half of the series into one chapter. I considered splitting it up into two or three chapters, but really, I think it flows better together than it would being split up like that.
> 
> Also, this one is already longer than The Demon In The Music Box, and will have more than 11 chapters.
> 
> Thank you for sticking with it and reading this far!

**Soho  
Eleven years ago**

Aziraphale smiled as he looked down at the tea and sushi rolls that had been lovingly prepared just for him. He found himself constantly amused at the delightful little things that added up to an experience. He usually came here alone, but like so many other things, he decided it was time to share this with Crowley, who was currently running a bit late.

In and of itself it wasn’t too concerning for Crowley to be tardy. It was a work-night, after all. Something involving a workman’s jacket Crowley affectionately referred to as the _Eff-Ess-Up-Jacket_ (though Crowley would refer to it more colorfully, of course), some sort of rodents, and, of all things, a thermal flask of tea. Aziraphale assumed that, as often it did, something had gone wrong. Or, rather, everything had gone quite right, but Crowley hadn’t anticipated that it might have splashed back on him, as the sillier and more entertaining of his schemes often did. Still, Aziraphale would pleasantly cheer him on as the demon practiced his presentations for Hell in the confines of the back of the bookshop. Given that he thought he remembered something about telephone lines from their earlier conversation, he chose to forgive not receiving a call at the restaurant to explain his delay.

_What is that lovely expression the humans use for this? Ah, yes, Date Night. Shame you aren’t here to enjoy it yet. Surely I should wait, shouldn’t I? But wouldn’t it be a shame to let the hard work of this delectable preparation go to waste by not being enjoyed now? Would it offend such a masterful chef to watch his creation simply sit upon the table just because Crowley isn’t here yet? Oh, well, needs must, I suppose. Crowley can order his own when he gets here and kick himself for fouling something up and missing tonight’s show._

Aziraphale knew Crowley enjoyed watching him eat. He made _certain_ of it.

The angel closed his eyes to take in the delicious aroma in front of him. Upon hearing the sound of a miraculous appearance, his smile increased slightly.

_Crowley_.

He looked to his left, the side Crowley tended to favor when approaching him, and opened his eyes. Instead of Crowley, he saw himself in the mirrored surface to his left, with Gabriel behind him on his right. His eyes widened slightly in surprise before turning around to face the Archangel.

_Oh, no._

“Mind if I join you?” Gabriel asked, a strange expression on his face.

_As a matter of fact, I **do** mind, thank you._

“Gabriel? What an unexpected pleasure. It's been…”

_Not long enough._

“Quite a while, yes.” The Archangel’s cold, violet eyes were unnervingly focused on Aziraphale. “Why do you consume that?” His eyebrow furrowed. “You're an angel.”

_Don’t remind me._

“It's sushi. It's nice. You dip it in soy sauce. It's what humans do. And if I am going to be living here among them, ahem, well, keeping up appearances.” He forced a smile at the Archangel. “Tea?”

Gabriel grimaced. “I do not sully the temple of my celestial body with…” The Archangel shot a look of disgust at the angel before continuing, “_Gross matter_.”

_Dick._

“Obviously not,” Aziraphale replied with a slight smile.

_Head Archangel Dickhead_.

The smile was still on Aziraphale’s face, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Nice suit.”

_For a Dick._

“Yes, I like the clothes.” Gabriel looked down at himself, giving a bit of a twirl in display. “Pity they won't be around much longer.”

_Why are clothes going away? What will we wear, then, if not clothes? _

“They won't?”

_I’ve had this coat for over 170 years. You’ll have to pry it from my cold discorporation._

“We have reliable information that things are afoot.” Gabriel looked at Aziraphale in a way that made his heart jump into his throat.

_Heaven knows about us._

“They are?” Aziraphale was terrified of whatever came next.

_But we’ve been so careful._

“Yes.”

_Is this why he’s late? What have you done with Crowley? Where is—_

“My informant suggests that the demon… Crowley may be involved.”

_Of course, he’s involved. He’s my… Crowley. Wait, what?_

“You need to keep him under observation without, of course, letting him know that's what you're doing.” Gabriel looked at him skeptically.

_Perhaps they **haven't **rumbled us after all._

“I _do_ know, yes. I've been on Earth doing this since the beginning,” Aziraphale replied, curtly.

“So has Crowley.” The Archangel spoke in a quietly unnerving manner.

_Obviously, I know that. But hopefully, you don’t know **why** I know that so well._

“It's a miracle he hasn't spotted you yet.” Gabriel gave another skeptical look.

Aziraphale simply smiled tightly and said nothing.

_Right. Gabriel likes to hear himself speak. No point in lying if I don’t have to. If I just wait long enough—_

“Yes, I know,” Gabriel laughed.

_There it is._

“Miracles are what we do.” The Archangel smiled and disappeared.

_All of that and I **still** don’t know where the clothes are going_, Aziraphale thought to himself before continuing his meal.  
  
  


Aziraphale was walking into the back room of the bookshop when Crowley managed to get a call through to him. He had just returned from their date that never happened. They made plans to meet up the next day. He hung up the phone and said out loud to nobody in particular, “Oh, it’s not the clothes. It’s Armageddon.”

_Oh._

_Oh, no._

**St James Park  
The Next Day**

“No.”

“It's the end of the world we're talking about. It's not some little temptation I've asked you to cover for me while you're up in Edinburgh for the festival. You can't say no.” Crowley explained.

“No.”

_It’s too risky._

“We can do something. I have an idea.”

_Do you? Do you really?_

“No! I am _not_ interested.” He turned to walk away.

_Please, I want to do this, but only if it’s really going to work. There’s too much at risk otherwise_.

Crowley, seeming almost in a panic himself, called out after the angel. “Well, let's have lunch, hmm?“

  
  
**The Ritz  
Afternoon**

“Mmm. That was scrumptious,” Aziraphale said, placing his fork down gently while pretending not to notice the way Crowley was staring.

_I do so hope you enjoyed the show, my dear._

“So, what are you in the mood for now?”

_I know what I want, but we’ve business to attend first._

“Alcohol,” Crowley exclaimed, playing a note against a glass with a spoon. “Quite extraordinary amounts of alcohol.”

**A.Z. Fell and Co  
Night**

“I don't like it any more than you do, but I told you, I can't diso- not do what I'm told. M’ an angel.”

_I need you to convince me, **really** convince me, that this will work. There’s no coming back from this otherwise. This is the end, either way, unless what you’re suggesting will actually work. And even then, there’s still a chance it’s the end for **us**. There’s still a chance that Heaven and Hell will—_

“I…” Aziraphale was almost in a panic at this point. “I can't cope with this while I'm drunk. I'm going to sober up.”

“Yeah, me too.”

Once sober, they continued their discussion. Aziraphale was relieved to find that the points Crowley presented to him made sense in a way that he could present to Heaven without too much argument.

_This is one of the many reasons I love you_, he thought._ You always seem to know what I need, and you give it freely_. _You really **are** an exceptional tempter. I know **I** find you quite tempting, anyway._

“You _are_ staying over tonight, aren’t you?” Aziraphale asked.

“If that’s an invitation, the answer is yes,” Crowley grinned. “To go over the plan, of course.”

“Yes, of course,” Aziraphale looked him up and down and grinned. “The plan.”

Now that they were feeling better about things, they began to drink again to practice celebrating.

“Think about it, Angel. When you gave away your sword—”

“Why do you have to keep bringing that up?” Aziraphale groaned.

The demon smiled, cupping the angel’s chin in his hand. “It’s my first favorite thing about you.”

“Serpent,” Aziraphale huffed with a hint of fondness.

Crowley stroked the side of the angel’s jaw with his thumb, wistfully looking up and down his face. He blinked quickly, as if snapping out of a trance. “Right, okay, the difference. What orders were you given by God when you first went into the Garden?”

“To protect the humans.”

“And?”

“That’s it.”

“So no, _‘do not interfere,’_ or any of that other mess you keep getting told when Heaven gives you orders?” Crowley tilted his head to the side as he asked the question, as if considering something.

Aziraphale perked up slightly, looking around in thought. “No, I suppose not, now that you mention it.”

“Loophole,” Crowley smiled, triumphantly. “Your first orders still stand. Protect the humans. Armageddon is likely going to be quite hazardous to their health, after all,” the demon reasoned.

“Can’t argue with that,” Aziraphale agreed.

“Right. So, the Antichrist. How to get in? I suppose that needs address—"

“A dress?” Aziraphale interrupted him. “Gabriel was talking about clothes last night.”

“What are you wittering on about Gabriel for?” Crowley looked confused for a brief moment before a brilliant smile flashed across his face. “A dress! I could be the child’s nanny! As a matter of fact...” He laughed softly to himself as he leaned back and closed his eyes, humming something that sounded a bit like the theme from Mary Poppins.

“You do look rather fetching in a dress, my dear. I’ve always thought so.” Aziraphale gazed at him fondly as he spoke.

After many more drinks and a few more plans outlined, the two were satisfied with their progress for the night. They went upstairs to go to bed, though Aziraphale had no intention of sleeping, as it wasn’t his way.

Over the next eleven years, they worked together, Crowley as young Warlock’s nanny, and Aziraphale as the gardener. Their days would be filled with efforts to influence the boy to a well-rounded, neutral state. Their late nights, after Warlock was tucked in and safely dreaming, were spent with one another, just like old times. It felt good to be working together once again. Aziraphale loved having what felt like a bit of a free pass to being in Crowley’s vicinity without arousing the suspicion of Heaven. If it weren’t for crushing servitude, impending doom, and the likelihood of an upcoming war where he would be pitted against the love of his life, it would have almost felt like freedom.

The time had come for the Antichrist’s eleventh birthday. He was to receive a Hellhound, a beast to pad by his side. If the boy named it, Armageddon would be at hand. But if they had done their jobs right, he would turn the beast away. It was decided that the pair would attend the birthday party of young Warlock to bear witness to the event.

**London  
Wednesday**

“No dog,” Aziraphale said.

“No dog,” Crowley repeated.

“Wrong boy,” Aziraphale continued.

“Wrong boy,” Crowley echoed.

“Armageddon is days away, and we've lost the Antichrist.”

Time to drink.

**A.Z. Fell and Co  
Thursday Morning**

Aziraphale rushed upstairs.

“Wake up! You have to go, now!” He yelled in a whisper at the demon asleep in his bed.

“What’s going on?” Crowley said, sleepily rubbing his eyes.

“Archangels.”

Golden eyes widened, with a snap of his fingers, he was alert, dressed, and rushing down the stairs behind Aziraphale. He slipped through the back door as Aziraphale headed into the shop.

“Can I help you?” he said, stepping out of the back room to greet the Archangels. He wasn’t paying much attention to what they were saying. He was more intent on making certain neither of them saw Crowley through the window as he ran to his car. “Gabriel, please, come into my back room.”

_Don’t look out the window. Don’t look out the window. Don’t look out the window._

“We humans are extremely easily embarrassed. We must buy our pornography secretively,” Sandalphon announced to the other customers in the shop as the two Archangels followed the angel into the back.

“Human beings are so simple and so easily fooled,” Gabriel laughed as he handed off a rather thick book about things he obviously had no concept of understanding. It was one of the few times Aziraphale had ever heard a sincere-sounding laugh from the Archangel.

_Yes, simple humans, humans that know what **books** are._

Aziraphale fought the twitching of his eye as he remembered the Library. “Yes,” he cleared his throat. “Great job. You fooled them all,” Aziraphale said, trying to keep his disgust to himself.

“You remember Sandalphon?” Gabriel practically beamed at the other Archangel.

_I’d rather not. _

“Sodom and Gomorrah,” Aziraphale confirmed. “Doing a lot of _smiting_, and turning people into salt. Hard to forget.”

_Hypocrite_.

Sandalphon preened and smiled like a jackal before he sniffed at the air. “Something smells… evil.”

_Yes, that’s how I knew the pair of you were about to darken my door._

“That’ll be the Jeffrey Archer books, I’m afraid.”

The two Archangels stood on opposite sides of the room, a tactic used to keep Aziraphale at a disadvantage by forcing him to turn his back on one to view the other. The conversation continued as they discussed the Great Plan, the summoning of the Four Horsepersons, and the Hellhound. Once Gabriel was satisfied with the check in, the Archangels left, and Aziraphale couldn’t have been more pleased when they did.

Later that afternoon, Aziraphale called Crowley with an idea. Crowley rushed over immediately to pick him up and head to Tadfield to do some research.

**Tadfield Manor**  
Thursday afternoon  
  


“Are you sure this is the right place? This doesn't look like a hospital. And,” the angel chuckled softly as he was overcome with the wonderful feeling. He threw his hand out to reach for Crowley without thinking. “It feels loved.”

As risks go, holding hands in public seemed small in the grand scheme of things. It was a normal, run-of-the-mill occurrence, an everyday thing the average couple often takes for granted. But for Aziraphale and Crowley, it could be the difference between life, death, or worse. The need for plausible deniability was too great to allow for such simple symbols of affection out in the light of day. When walking in public, Aziraphale kept his hands clasped together, often behind his back, but occasionally at his front, while Crowley kept his own in his pockets as a precaution, just in case either of them mindlessly reached out for the other. Which Aziraphale had just done, putting them both in danger. Crowley reached instinctively up to take Aziraphale’s hand, catching himself and stopping just before they connected. He pulled his hand back behind him.

“No, it's definitely the place,” Crowley replied. “What do you mean _loved_?“

“Well, I mean the opposite of when you say, "I don't like this place. It feels _spooky_".

“I don't ever say that. I like spooky. Big spooky fan, me.” Their near-mistake with the hand-holding made Crowley nervous, hence the prattling on. “Let's go talk to some nuns.”

They walked through the courtyard when suddenly Aziraphale felt a slight thump on his back and spun around. He saw, through his peripheral vision, Crowley flail his arms wildly before falling down like a sack of bricks on his left. They had been shot… with paint, per Crowley’s forensic research in licking the unknown substance on his own hand and the brilliant determination that Aziraphale didn’t bleed blue. Luckily for Aziraphale, he was wearing enough layers that it wasn’t too uncomfortable. Crowley, however, was nowhere near as lucky. He took a direct hit to the sternum, paintball to skin, with no cushioning whatsoever.

_No wonder you went down so dramatically,_ he thought. _That must have stung quite smartly._

Somehow, the man who shot them had even worse luck.

“Well, that was fun,” the demon grinned after reverting his face back to normal. It wasn’t often that he got to scare humans to the point of fainting.

“Well, yes, fun for you. Look at the state of this coat! I've kept this in tip-top condition for over 180 years now. I'll _never_ get this stain out.”

_Some of my favorite memories of you involve wearing this coat._

Crowley pouted in an attempt to validate Aziraphale’s distress. “You could miracle it away.”

“Yes, but well, _I_ would always know the stain was there… Underneath, I mean.” Aziraphale’s eyebrows gently arched up above pleading eyes, with just enough of a quiver of his lip to break through the hard, smoky, dark chocolate shell and get to the marshmallow center of a certain demon’s heart.

_Unless you wanted to give me a new memory of this, so that every time I thought about the stain, I’d think about how you—_

Crowley smirked affectionately and blew the paint away.

“Oh, thank you.” Aziraphale beamed.

_You may not be able to say it, but you surely make certain I feel it just the same._

Aziraphale picked up the unconscious man’s rifle. “Impressive hardware. I've looked at this gun. It's not a proper one at all. It just shoots paintballs.” Crowley took the gun from his hands with a patronizing pout and nod.

_I saw that look you just gave me._

“Don't your lot disapprove of guns?” Crowley playfully pointed it at Aziraphale.

Aziraphale nervously pushed the barrel away from his face. “Unless they're in the right hands. Then they give weight to a moral argument…” He hesitated briefly. “I think.”

_Yes, I know it sounds flimsy, because it **is**._

“A moral argument?” Crowley’s voice rumbled with amusement, a smile creeping across his face.

_Oh, I could just hate you right now._

“Really?” The demon’s smile was full and open now.

_No, not really. I love you, of course, but I’m having difficulty tolerating you in this very moment._

Crowley threw the gun down on the ground, still grinning brightly as he sauntered happily on. “Come on,” he said, walking towards the entrance to the building.

“This is definitely the place,” Crowley mused as they wandered down the hallway, Crowley lost in his leaflet while Aziraphale peeked through doors. “Wonder where the nuns went?”

An unfamiliar woman ran past in camouflage helmet and gear. “Oh, Millie from Accounts caught me on the elbow. Who's winning?”

Crowley brought his hands up in a flourishing snap. “You're all going to lose,” he said as the sounds of machine gunfire began outside.

Aziraphale’s eyes widened. “What the hell did you just do?”

“Well, they wanted real guns,” Crowley answered through a grin. “So, I gave them what they wanted.” He looked so pleased with himself.

_They did not. Most of them didn’t want to be here at all! Well, okay, maybe they **did** want guns after all. But still!_

Aziraphale did not feel the same sense of delight at this turn of events. “There are people out there shooting at each other?”

_Those are humans, Crowley. Remember, humans? The people we’re trying to save? The reason we’re trying to find the Antichrist? Well, one of the reasons, anyway? The reason that I’m able to do this at all?_

“Well, it lends weight to their moral argument.” Crowley kicked a door open with a loud crash of glass. “Everyone has free will, including the right to murder…” He laughed quietly as he walked with mischievous delight. “Just think of it as a microcosm of the universe,” the demon grinned as the sounds of machine guns played outside.

Aziraphale was shocked. “They're _murdering_ each other?”

_Who are you and where is **my** demon?_

“No, they aren't,” Crowley sighed and groaned slightly. “No one's killing anyone. They're all having miraculous escapes.” He shrugged slightly. “It wouldn't be any fun otherwise.”

_You really are an artist of mischief, aren’t you? Such a soft heart. It’s nice._

“You know, Crowley, I've always said that deep down, you really are quite a nice—”

Crowley grabbed him by the coat, not hard enough to damage, but enough to press him roughly between the shadows on the wall, essentially pinning him into a cross of light. The demon was careful enough not to let the angel’s head hit the wall, but there was more than enough force when their hips rolled together with a pressure that did _not_ go unnoticed by Aziraphale.

“Shut it! I'm a demon,” Crowley growled in a low voice.

_And you are exquisite._

“I'm not nice—"

_You are brilliant._

“I'm _never_ nice—"

_You are **so** nice and good and—_

“Nice is a four-letter word—"

_When I get you back to the bookshop—_

“I will not have—"

_I’m going to throw **you** up against a wall and—_

A smartly-dressed woman approached with the breezy confidence of someone happy to be at work. “Excuse me, gentlemen.”

Crowley turned his head while Aziraphale turned his eyes away from the demon’s lips towards the intrusion.

_Well, f—_

“Sorry to break up an intimate moment. Can I help you?”

_I certainly hope so, now that you’ve already interrupted. _

“You,” Crowley growled upon recognizing her as the nun he gave the Antichrist to 11 years prior.

Aziraphale looked between the former nun and the demon pressed against him, but made no motion to move or speak.

“Saints and demons preserve us, it's Master Crowley!” She startled, freezing in place as Crowley stepped away from Aziraphale and snapped his fingers.

Aziraphale glared at Crowley. “You didn't have to do that,” the angel said, adjusting his clothes, miffed at the loss of the pressure of a lanky demon against his hips. “You could have just _asked_ her.”

_Or you could have still frozen time, stayed right where you were, and we could have—_

Crowley’s tirade interrupted Aziraphale’s roaming thoughts.

“Oh of course, of course. No. Yeah,” Crowley sputtered as he looked around exaggeratedly. "_Excuse me,_ ma'am, we're two _supernatural entities_ just looking for the notorious _Son of Satan_,” he hissed and wobbled his head dramatically. “Wonder if you might _help us with our enquiries_?"

_How does so much sarcasm fit inside such a pretty package? I suppose I’ll have to handle this myself, then… And handle **you** later._

**Tadfield  
Thursday Night**

They left Tadfield manor without much to go on. After a literal run-in with an American on a bicycle, Aziraphale found himself a bit peckish. Crowley decided they would stop at a little diner they passed on the way in for coffee and a nibble.

Aziraphale reached for the door handle when suddenly Crowley reached across him to grab the door handle himself.

“You don’t have to open my door—” Aziraphale tried to say before being cut off by a kiss. His hands ran up the demon’s arms to his shoulders, up the back of his neck, and into his soft hair. Crowley melted into his touch, breaking the kiss just long enough to delicately caress the angel’s cheek with his nose before pressing his lips against the corner of Aziraphale’s jaw.

“What was that for?” The angel asked.

“Been thinking on it for a while, but especially since this afternoon.

“You mean when I told you that you were ni—”

The demon placed his lips upon the angel’s own to trap the word inside.

_When I get you home, I’m going to take you apart._

**A.Z. Fell and Co  
Thursday Night**

The brakes squealed as Crowley pulled into his usual non-parking spot across the way from the bookshop.

“You know,” Crowley got out of the car and leaned across the top. “if you lined up everyone _in the whole world_ and asked them to describe the Velvet Underground, nobody _at all_ would say _bebop_.”

Aziraphale looked at Crowley coolly as he closed the car door.

_Lucky for you, I’ve already decided to take you upstairs and have my way with you. Otherwise, a comment like that might have you left standing alone on the kerb._

Aziraphale glanced into the back seat. “Oh, there's a book back there.”

“Well, it's not mine. I don't read books,” Crowley argued.

“It has to belong to the young lady you hit with your car.” He reached into the back seat to retrieve it. “We really should have gotten her address…” His voice trailed off as he read the title of the book in his hand_._

_Good Lord, it’s the Holy Grail of prophetic books. I was beginning to think it no longer existed._

“No, we really shouldn’t. I'm in enough trouble as it is,” Crowley scoffed. “I'm not going to start returning lost property. That's what _your_ lot do. Why don't you just send it to the Tadfield post office, addressed to _the mad American woman with the bicycle_?” Crowley said, sarcastically.

“Oh, uh jolly good, yes. Rather.” He looked up at Crowley briefly without actually seeing or hearing him. He was so excited that his heart was beating in his ears, distorting all sound. All he could see was the culmination of years upon years of searching, and a near-discorporation, right at his fingertips. If this book held the answers to stopping Armageddon, he had to do whatever he could to find them.

“Right,” Crowley stood making conversation while waiting to be invited in. “So we'll both contact our respective human operatives, then?”

Aziraphale barely noticed the question as he started across the way towards the shop. “All right.”

Crowley looked at him with a hint of concern. “Are _you_ all right?”

His mind was racing with unbridled excitement. He couldn’t wait to crack that book open. Nothing was going to distract him. “Perfectly, yes. Uh, tip-top.” Somehow, though he was looking at the book in his hands instead of anywhere else, he made it to the bookshop door. “Absolutely tickety-boo.” He opened the door, slipping through it, and popped his head back out for one last adieu. “Mind how you go!”

Aziraphale didn’t see the disappointed look on Crowley’s face, having already closed and locked the shop door behind him.

He got to work right away, poring over the text all night long. He took copious amounts of notes, both on paper as well as connecting ideas on a board, as he read and deciphered clues, discovering the whereabouts of the Antichrist. He was especially bolstered by a particular passage that he soon discovered was meant for him.

As night turned into day, he found he had discovered a phone number. Upon calling it, all was confirmed as what he heard in the background was written in the book.

It was destiny that Crowley hit that girl with his car.

He had done it. He had found the Antichrist, and everything was going to be okay!

He would speak with the Archangels later in the morning.

**Heaven  
Friday Morning**

Aziraphale called a meeting with Gabriel, Michael, and Uriel.

_I see you’ve brought your pet along,_ he thought, glancing from Gabriel to Sandalphon.

The conversation was not going well. It was looking more and more like the Archangels were more interested in having a war than they were with protecting the humans.

“Um…” Aziraphale quickly tried to find a way to pose this question without arousing too much suspicion. He had had luck in finding ways to bend around orders with hypotheticals in past correspondence and personal interactions with Gabriel. “Hypothetically speaking, if that were the case—"

Uriel interrupted him. “It wouldn't change anything, Aziraphale.”

“There was war in Heaven long before the Earth was created,” Gabriel continued. “Crowley and the rest were cast out, but nothing was ever really settled.”

“I suppose it wasn't. But there doesn't _have_ to be another war, does there?” Aziraphale asked with reluctant hope.

“When your cause is just you do not hesitate to smite the foe, Aziraphale,” Michael replied, concern darkening her eyes.

Sandalphon grinned menacingly. “We all look forward to a good foe-smiting.”

_Of course **you** would, you fiend. You’d smite anything at all, wouldn’t you?_

Gabriel inhaled through his nose as if irritated. “As much as we appreciate your hypotheticals, Aziraphale, I'm afraid we have…” he hesitated for a moment, choosing his words carefully before he spoke. “Other things to do. The Earth isn't going to just end itself, you know,” Gabriel explained.

“No. Yes. Right,” Aziraphale said, trying his best to cover his disappointment.

_Well, that went down like a lead balloon._   
  


Aziraphale stood waiting for the lift to come up from the lobby as Michael poked her head around the corner. “Aziraphale, a word before you go?”

“Yes?” Aziraphale answered as she gestured for him to follow. “Of course,” he said, following her into a room at the end of a long hallway.

“Please, have a seat,” she gestured to a rolling chair in front of a desk.

As soon as Aziraphale sat down, Michael smiled sweetly and snapped her fingers. “What’s happening?” Aziraphale asked as he found himself tied down against the chair.

“I couldn’t help but notice that you haven’t been wearing your medals, Aziraphale.” Gabriel entered the room, locking the door behind him. He sat on the edge of the desk in front of the Principality.

Aziraphale said nothing, keeping his eyes on the Archangel in front of him.

“This isn’t the first time you’ve tried to avoid battle, now, is it, Aziraphale?” Michael asked, looking properly disappointed.

“Early humans had an interesting technique of identifying their soldiers,” Gabriel said, casually. “You were aware of that, weren’t you?” Though he was speaking to Michael, he faced Aziraphale. Gabriel smiled that cold, unnerving smile that crinkled his eyes yet held no mirth. He clapped his hands together. “Of course, Aziraphale is well-aware of this fact. It was in one of _his_ reports, after all.”

“What might that be?” Michael asked, never taking her eyes off of Aziraphale.

“It’s quite impressive, actually, to have come from humans. It’s a marking.” Gabriel smiled like a predator about to pounce upon its prey.

“A marking? What sort of marking?” Michael asked in mock surprise.

Gabriel smiled at Michael warmly as he spoke. “Superiors would have the skin of the soldiers marked. It was something they couldn’t simply remove. This made it easy to identify them as soldiers…” He turned his chilling violet gaze towards Aziraphale once more. “Or as deserters.”

“Where was this marking placed?” Michael asked as she stepped closer towards Aziraphale.

“The hands. Remove his ring.”

“No!” Aziraphale shouted, struggling in his bindings. “You mustn’t! That ring was given to me directly by God when she charged me with my purpose! It isn’t yours to take!” He managed to bring his wings out, breaking free of the restraints as he struggled to get past the two of them. The Archangels may have had more power overall, but, due to his God-given purpose, Aziraphale had the advantage of brute strength. Not enough of an advantage, unfortunately, as it only delayed the inevitable. It took both of the Archangels piling on top of him to hold him down, his wings thrashing as he clawed at the floor to get away. 

“Relax, Aziraphale. No one is taking it away from you. You’ll get it back when I’m done,” Gabriel said, leaning hard to pin Aziraphale’s right arm down against him even as the Principality lifted both himself and the two Archangels on top of him up by pushing against the floor with his left arm.

Michael reached out, slipping the ring off of the struggling angel’s right pinky finger as tears rolled down his cheeks.

“Hold on to that feeling, Aziraphale,” Michael said quietly. “If you think it hurts to temporarily lose contact with your ring, imagine what it’s going to feel like when you lose your Grace and Fall. Think about that next time you feel like misbehaving.”

“Hold still,” Gabriel said, reaching for Aziraphale’s empty hand. He held Aziraphale by the wrist with one hand while pulling the pinky out with a bit more force than was necessary, dragging his thumb around the base of the finger. The jolt of power that shot through his skin caused Aziraphale to cry out, wrenching his hand free from the Archangel’s grip. He watched in horror as golden letters appeared in a ring around the base of his finger, embedded into his skin.

> ** _A Good Angel Follows Orders._ **

“Now,” Gabriel said, standing up to sit on the edge of the desk in front of where Aziraphale lay crumpled on the floor. “You still report directly to me. Do you understand?”

“I understand,” the Principality said, bitterly.

“You will follow all orders I personally give you, both written and oral. Do you understand?”

“Yes.”

“Do you understand?”

“I do, yes.”

**_“SAY IT!”_** Gabriel bellowed, his voice echoing through Aziraphale’s mind painfully. The words on his finger burned hot inside his skin.

“I understand,” Aziraphale said quietly, his eyes downcast.

“Look me in the eye so I know you’re listening.”

Aziraphale’s red-rimmed eyes met Gabriel’s gaze without hesitation. The Archangel’s violet eyes had grown so dark they were almost like obsidian glass.

“I understand.”

“Any other Archangel may give you suggestions, but you are only to explicitly follow my own orders. Do you understand?”

“I understand.”

“There is no one above me but God. Do you understand?”

“I understand.”

Aziraphale felt a familiar, but unwelcome, clench in the back of his head and chest.

Gabriel looked to Michael and nodded. Michael handed Aziraphale his ring. When he slipped it back on his finger, covering up the markings Gabriel had left, it felt different. What used to feel like warmth and light now felt muted, more like a memory of God’s love without a direct link.

Once the Archangels left the room, Aziraphale took a few minutes to compose himself before stumbling out of the room and down the hallway towards the exit. Finally in the glass lift, the angel looked longingly across all of London with sorrowful, cloudy eyes as he descended from Heaven.


	11. Cry Your Heart Out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When A Good Angel Loses Hope and Gains Understanding

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was another chapter that ended up longer than the others, but again, it needed to go together.
> 
> The lyrics interwoven into the end of this chapter are from Regina Spektor's The One Who Stayed and the One Who Left It isn't from the Begin To Hope album, but it felt right to put here. Give it a listen to get a feel of the mood of this chapter.

**Soho  
Friday Afternoon**

Aziraphale trudged along on his way back to the bookshop from his meeting with the Archangels. He couldn’t help but notice that the world didn’t seem as bright now. It was colder, somehow. He felt very alone.

As he walked, lost in thought, he realized that the world was the same as it was earlier this morning. The people continued to go about their day as if nothing terrible or tragic or appalling had just happened to the wretched gentleman they smiled at on the street. He shivered and pulled at his coat upon the understanding that the world hadn’t changed at all. What had changed was him.

The angel worried at the ring on his finger, not daring to remove it. He didn’t want to see the marks of his servitude. It was more than enough to feel them and know they were there. But more importantly, he couldn’t bear the thought of losing what little connection to God he was so desperate to feel, even for a second. It hurt him in a way he hadn’t expected, not that he had ever expected anything like this. He felt as though a part of him wasn’t missing, per se, but was disconnected. It was right there before him, but he couldn’t connect to it, couldn’t touch or feel it.

God was still there. She hadn’t left him. He knew that in his heart for all of these years. He could feel Her presence, Her connection to him, whenever he twisted the ring She gave him. In the past, it had soothed him. Now, it only served to allow his sorrow to further consume him. She was there, but it was as if She were on the other side of a wall. No matter how hard he pressed, no matter how he chipped away at it, he could never get more than a finger or two through, never enough to reach Her.

Eyes downcast, he did his best to avoid contact with anyone else as he made his way home. _Home_, he thought. Heaven hadn’t been his home for many eons, if it had ever been at all. He stood on the sidewalk for a moment, staring at the sign above the door to the bookshop. The bookshop, the Earth, was his home, wasn’t it? It was the only place he had ever truly belonged, had ever truly felt welcome. He had existed in Heaven prior to this, but it was as if he were brought to life for the first time when She brought him into the Garden and placed that ring on his finger. He walked inside of the bookshop, locking the door behind him.

_I have to… I need to,_ he faltered, trying to remember what his life had been like prior to this morning. He remembered that he had intended to contact Shadwell about the Antichrist. He put on as brave a face as he could, took a deep breath, and made the call.

It felt hollow, the way he had spoken with the Sergeant. The words flowed as easily as any other time, but there was nothing behind them. No spark, and very little light. He couldn’t feel the warmth he projected into his speech. He felt very much like a shell of his former self.

_Tea. That… that should help_, he thought. He started the kettle.

Aziraphale had been disconnected from Heaven since the dawn of humanity, for as long as there had been an Earth. But in all that time, he had never been alone, not really. He had always felt Her presence. Maybe his faith wasn’t strong enough, but he hadn’t really had to rely on it before. Faith was something one had in spite of a lack of proof. He had never _needed_ blind faith. He _knew_ She was there. He had been _connected_ to her. No matter how low he had been, he had always felt her presence.

Until now.

The whistling of the kettle pulled him out of his rumination long enough to make tea. He sat down at his desk, the warm cup in his right hand feeling foreign and wrong, unbalanced somehow. He brought the cup to his lips, inhaling the aroma. He paused when he realized he barely noticed the scent of bergamot he had been expecting. Once heady and vivid, now more diffused and near-unnoticeable. He took a sip and grimaced at the taste of ash in his mouth.

There would be no joy found in that cup.

Aziraphale pushed the cup of tea away in bitter disgust. He rubbed his palms roughly across his face before pulling his right hand to his chest and covering his eyes with his left. Aziraphale’s shoulders shook as he sat at his desk, shedding quiet tears for the angel he used to be.

With a sharp inhale, Aziraphale rubbed his hand down his face and looked around wildly. He jumped up out of his chair and began pacing around like a caged tiger. Upon hearing the phone ring, he pounced to answer.

“It's me,” Crowley’s voice came through the receiver. “Meet me at the third alternative rendezvous.”

_Crowley_.

“Is that the old bandstand, the number 19 bus, or the British Museum cafe?”

“The bandstand,” Crowley answered, exasperatedly, though he quickly recovered. “I'll be there in 15 minutes.”

_I can’t let him see me like this._

Crowley was the only thing that still felt _almost_ real.

Aziraphale continued pacing in a vain attempt to calm himself before he met with Crowley.

_He doesn’t know. He can’t know. How could he look at me if he knew? How could I touch him again? Would my touch burn his skin now? Would he even allow me near enough to find out? _Aziraphale flexed his hand as he looked down at it, his lips set in a tight line across his face. The angel sat down heavily at his desk once more, slamming his fists down on the surface. The soldier lowered his head down onto his arms in defeat.

Aziraphale stayed motionless, save for the occasional trembling of his shoulders and contortions on his face for a few minutes. He pushed himself up off of the desk, wiping his eyes as he looked at the clock. He was going to be late. _Crowley’s probably already there,_ he thought.

After a few deep breaths and a squaring of shoulders against the inner desire to collapse, Aziraphale left the bookshop to meet Crowley.

The demon was already there as Aziraphale approached. Nervously, he looked around as he followed the path in the fading light.

Something was wrong. The warmth he felt at his center whenever he laid eyes upon the demon wasn’t there. He was growing colder inside, slowly, but certainly.

He was barely able to contain himself, his nerves raw and quite nearly unhinged. He felt foreign within his corporation. His emotions, though they stabbed at him like knives, were dull and blunted, punching jagged holes instead of taking precision strikes. He needed time to come to terms with what had happened, to figure out how to exist without being able to feel any of the comforts he had once felt through his connection to God.

Time was not a commodity in any sort of plentiful supply.

“You were an angel once,” Aziraphale dolefully stated.

“That was a long time ago,” Crowley replied morosely.

_Don’t you remember? You escaped Heaven’s clutches when you Fell. I’m still trapped in that gilded cage. Maybe you don’t remember. Was it different then, before, when God was still there? Before the Archangels took over? I don’t remember, either. I only remember servitude._

_And now I can barely remember Her._

They argued back and forth, neither wanting to admit how scared they were of what might come next. They were equally out of their element, not that anyone ever would have been competent in this situation. No one had ever been in this situation before in the history of anything, after all, much less a tragically kind demon ground down and hardened by circumstance and the fading remnants of an angel in the husk of a soldier.

“Then you should kill the boy yourself. Holi-ly," Crowley said as he moved closer to Aziraphale.

_Please don’t ask me to do this. This is hard enough without you throwing a past I had no control over in my face._

“I’m not _killing_ anybody." Aziraphale could barely look at him.

_You don’t know what you’re asking. How could you know? If I were to do that, especially now, to kill a human, I’d be disobeying God’s first order. It would destroy the last shred of any way for me to circumvent Gabriel’s orders. Without that to fall back on, I’d have nothing left. It’s almost all gone already. They took Her from me, Crowley. She’s right there, and I can’t reach her anymore. Do you have any idea what that’s like?_

_Oh, I suppose you do, actually. You know exactly how that feels far better than I, don’t you? Except you don’t realize that now I know, too. I can't even talk to you about it, because I know as soon as I did, you'd try to storm Heaven and get yourself killed._

“This is ridiculous,” Crowley stated in frustration. “You are ridiculous.” He seemed to be upset about more than the current conversation. “I don't even know why I'm still talking to you.”

“Well, frankly, neither do I,” Aziraphale huffed back.

“Enough, I'm leaving.” Crowley turned to walk away.

_No! Don’t! Not again!_

“You can't leave, Crowley!” Aziraphale pleaded. “There isn't anywhere to go.”

_What am I doing?_

The demon stopped, turning around. “It's a big universe,” he said, raising his arms out to gesture around himself. “Even if this all ends up in a puddle of burning goo, we can go off together.”

Aziraphale remembered how his heart used to flutter at the thought. He wondered if he could ever feel that again.

“Go off together? Listen to yourself.”

_What if **they’re** listening?_

“How long have we been friends?” The demon asked with what appeared to be either hope or courage struggling for dominance upon his face. “Six thousand years!”

“Friends? We're not friends!”

_I may not understand whatever it is I’m feeling right now, but I know we were more than friends! Wait… Is this what you felt… that day in St. James Park? This was how I hurt you. Oh, Crowley, I'm so sorry. I had no idea._

“We are an angel and a demon,” Aziraphale said firmly, unable to look into the demon’s eyes behind his dark glasses.

_I didn’t protect you then, but I will now. But I’ll have to hurt you again to do it._

“We have nothing whatsoever in common,” the angel nearly shouted. “I don't even like you!”

Crowley growled affectionately as he approached. “You do!”

_They have me again. It isn’t just a matter of me hiding it anymore. I don’t think I could if I tried, not now. I’m already slipping away, I can feel it._ _I have to keep you as far from this as possible._

“Even if I did know where the Antichrist was, I wouldn't tell you. We’re on opposite sides!”

_I don’t want this any more than you do._

“We’re on _our side!_” Crowley hissed desperately.

_We can’t be. They’ll destroy you, and if Heaven finds out about us, about how we’ve felt for one another, they won’t just make me watch. They’ll make me do it as punishment. Why won’t you **listen** to me?_

“There is no _our side_, Crowley! Not anymore.”

_ If you ever loved me even once, please, you must stop this!_

Michael’s words loomed over him like a shadow_. _

_“When your cause is just you do not hesitate to smite the foe, Aziraphale.”_

_But you’ve never been my foe, have you? Not in the true sense, anyway. _Aziraphale thought._ And our cause is just, at least, I think so. But you’re at risk as long as you’re with me. _

_Forgive me. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry._

“It’s over.”

In spite of being unable to feel much else, the gravity of those two words shook Aziraphale to his very core.

_If I hurt you now, at least you might survive to hate me later. _

_I_ _ love you. _

_Even that feels strange now, uneven and ill-fitting. But I **know** I did before. It’s still in there, somewhere underneath the golden barriers embedded in my skin._

The angel’s heart broke a little more as the demon’s face slowly worked through the unexpected realization of the words that hung between them.

After a deep breath and a couple of failed attempts to form a complete thought, the demon managed an acrimonious, “Have a nice doomsday,” and walked away. He looked back at the angel in confusion and regret before finally turning around to head down the path and out of the park.

Aziraphale’s heart cracked down the center while he watched Crowley move further and further away, neither one seeing the tears in the eyes of the other.

_I’ll love you for as long as I’m able. I hope I get to see you on the other side of this, if there is another side._

_Our side._

**A Park In London  
Saturday Morning**

Aziraphale decided he would make another attempt to reason with Gabriel, hopefully without his pet or the other Archangels surrounding him. It was going to be hard enough to see Gabriel again. He didn’t imagine he could handle seeing Michael at all.

As usual, Gabriel was out for his morning jog through the park. Aziraphale stood waiting in his path.

_How have you not grown the least bit interested in humanity after all this time? They’re all around you, _Aziraphale thought, glancing at a street performer dressed as an angel as he waited for the Archangel to approach_, yet you see them as nothing more than scenery. How sad of an existence you must lead to have access to all this wonder and beauty and just run right past it without ever **really** seeing it._

Gabriel didn’t even acknowledge either angel, costumed or Heavenly, as he jogged past. With a start, Aziraphale jumped into a wobbly run to intercept to the Archangel.

**“**Hmm?” Gabriel barely hummed in greeting as Aziraphale caught up, but not bothering to stop his jog.

“It's me.”

“I _know_ it's you, Aziraphale,” the Archangel confirmed, annoyed at the intrusion.

“Yes. Right. Look, we need to get word upstairs to the to the to the Big Boss. There, there's been prophecies.”

_Please, for once, try to listen, Gabriel._

“What's in human prophecies that matters to us?”

_How am I going to convince you? What will it take?_

“Well, er, the Kraken wakes and rises from the sea floor,” Aziraphale began, nervously. “So does Atlantis. And the rain forests return. And that's just for starters. Armageddon is coming, and I'm fairly certain it starts today, just after teatime.”

“Exactly. Right on schedule. What's your point?” Gabriel seemed oblivious to Aziraphale’s line of reasoning.

_You’re not listening! Why won’t anyone **listen** to me?_

“Look, will you please stop, just for a minute? Please!” He was doubled-over and out of breath.

The Archangel rolled his eyes and stopped. “Well?” Gabriel said with quiet irritation.

“I just I just thought there was something we could do,” Aziraphale said, plaintively.

“There is! We can fight, and we can win!” The Archangel seemed to perk up as he spoke.

“But there doesn't have to _be_ a war,” Aziraphale said in one last attempt to make his case.

“Of course there does. Otherwise, how would we _win_ it? Hmm?” Gabriel’s face scrunched up, disbelieving anyone could think differently than he did without something being fundamentally wrong with them.

_You want this war. You aren’t just doing what you think is right. You actually **want** this. You don’t care about the humans at all._ _This is it, _he thought._ This is where it all ends._

“Now look, wrap up whatever you need to wrap up down here. Report back to active service and,” Gabriel looked Aziraphale up and down with a patronizing look on his face as he sighed, “Lose the gut.”

Aziraphale didn’t have the strength to hide the expression of utter despair and misery on his face.

“Come on,” Gabriel continued, throwing punches towards Aziraphale’s stomach but pulling them at the last minute, horrifying the angel with memories of the previous day. “You're a lean, mean fighting machine.” The Archangel laughed as he asked before running off, “What are ya?”

“I'm… I'm soft.” Aziraphale was near tears.

Aziraphale gasped and jumped when Gabriel appeared before him again, miraculously. “Almost forgot. According to our records, you were issued a flaming sword. You didn't lose that?”

_What have you been doing in my records? _

“What,” Aziraphale nervously laughed, “Like I’d, I'd just give it away or something.”

Gabriel grabbed him briefly about the sides before taking off to jog down the path once more.

In spite of the desolation he felt about this meeting, he couldn’t help but feel a tiny flicker of renewed hope, remembering the first of the list of directives Gabriel had just given him_. _

_“Wrap up whatever you need to wrap up down here.” _

_Well, if you **insist**._

While he wasn’t quite ready to point his feet towards home, he took a walk to clear his head and come up with a plan.  
  
  


**Soho  
Mid-Morning Saturday**

Aziraphale walked down the sidewalk, lost in thought and staring at his hands. He was roused from his quiet contemplation by the approaching noise that was Crowley.

“Angel! I'm sorry. I apologize. Whatever I said, I didn't mean it. Work with me, I'm apologizing here. Yes? Good.”

_You still love me._

“Get in the car.”

“What? No!”

_And do what? We’re supposed to be saving the world, Crowley! That’s what you wanted, wasn’t it?_

“The forces of Hell have figured out it was my fault.”

Aziraphale looked pained at that information.

“But we can run away together,” the demon continued, obviously distressed and anxious, waving his arm above him. “Alpha Centauri. Lots of spare planets up there. Nobody would even notice us.”

Aziraphale shook his head in disbelief. “Crowley, you're being ridiculous.”

_Maybe you can hide, but there is a platoon in Heaven actively expecting me, along with Gabriel. When the battle began, they would definitely notice I wasn’t there, and they’d come to find me. And when they found me, they’d find you. I can’t let them find you, Crowley._

“Look, I, I, I'm quite sure if I can just, just reach the right people, then I can get all this sorted out.” Aziraphale wasn’t sure who he was trying to convince more.

“There aren't any right people,” Crowley lamented. “There's just God, moving in mysterious ways and not talking to _any_ of us,” he growled in panic.

_God. I’ll just have to speak to God myself. She’ll know what to do. She…_

“Well, yes, and that is why I'm going to have a word with the Almighty, and then the Almighty will fix it.” Aziraphale twisted his ring with a longing that ached into his core.

“That won't happen,” Crowley’s face contorted into an exasperated sigh. “You're so clever. How can somebody as clever as you be so stupid?”

_I know you don’t mean that._

“I forgive you.”

_If you knew what I had done, could you ever forgive me?_

“Oh,” the demon, visibly deflated, let out a whining growl and stalked off towards the Bentley. “I'm going home, Angel,” he yelled from over the top of the car. I'm getting my stuff and I'm leaving.” He leaned over with a spectacularly dramatic wave of his arm. “And when I'm off in the stars, I won't even _think_ about you!”

Crowley ducked down into the vehicle and slammed the door behind him. Aziraphale watched with regret as he noisily drove away, neither one seeing the tears in the eyes of the other.

“I've been there,” a strange voice said. Aziraphale looked down to find a man had approached him, apparently having seen the interaction between the two Celestial beings. “You're better off without him.”

_I’m really not. And neither are you. That demon is my moral compass. The world is ending, and if it weren’t for him, you and the rest of humanity would have no hope. But I have a plan now._

_I don't want you to go away forever,_ he thought as he stared off in the direction Crowley had driven. _We will meet again somehow._

The crash of thunder went unnoticed as Aziraphale distractedly continued to walk towards the bookshop.

He suddenly found himself surrounded by Archangels, with Michael sliding right in front of him.

“Hello, Aziraphale.”

“Oh, Michael, Uriel.” Aziraphale paused for a moment before continuing with a flat tone, “Sandalphon.” He smiled weakly as the three Archangels backed him into a wall. “Hello, erm—”

Michael cut him off. “We've just been learning some rather disturbing things about you. You've been a bit of a fallen angel, haven't you?” She purred with treacherous delight. “Consorting with the enemy?”

“Oh, I, I, I haven't been consorting.” He grinned nervously as his voice rose in pitch. “Just exchanging information, trying to stop all this from happening.”

_Why did I say that? They **want** this war!_

“You know how we treat _traitors_ in wartime?” Sandalphon asked.

Aziraphale was aghast. “I’m not a—"

Uriel interrupted. “Terrible choice. Don't think your boyfriend in the dark glasses will get you special treatment in Hell. He's in trouble too.”

_Oh, no. They know about Crowley. Oh, please, God, keep him as far away from this as possible. Please don’t let them hurt him. Don’t let **me** hurt him._

“Aziraphale,” Michael’s voice pulled him out of his thoughts. “It's time to choose sides.”

“I've, I've actually been giving that a lot of thought. The, erm, the whole _choosing sides_ thing.” Aziraphale babbled anxiously. “Erm, what I think is that there _obviously_ has to be two sides “That's the whole point. So people can make choices. That's, that's what being human means. Choices! But, but that's, that's for _them_.” He pointed towards the inside of the café he was backed up against. “_Our_ job as, as angels,” he said with a flourish of his hand, “Should be to keep all this working so they _can_ make choices.”

Uriel looked him up and down. “You think too much.”

Michael nodded at Sandalphon. He leaned in and punched Aziraphale hard in the stomach, causing him to gasp and double-over as far as he could given the Archangels blocking him.

“You stink like that pet snake of yours,” Sandalphon whispered into Aziraphale’s ear before pulling back from his punch.

_Strong words from Gabriel’s **lap** dog_, he thought angrily_. You don’t get to speak of Crowley that way, you—_

Uriel grabbed him by the jacket and slammed him back up against the wall. He expected this from Michael and Sandalphon, but he was surprised to find this behavior in Uriel as well.

“You, you mustn't! Why would you do this?” Aziraphale asked her, the overwhelming weight of the last betrayal of all of Heaven shining in his terrified eyes. “We're the good guys!” He looked between the three of them wildly. “I have to warn you that that I'm going to take this entire interaction up with, up with…” He looked up briefly before finishing his thought. “A higher authority.”

Uriel smirked wickedly, looking him over with disdain. “You really think upstairs will take your call?” She leaned into him, menacingly. “You're ridiculous.”

The Archangels all looked upwards as the Heavenly Bugle called to them.

“Oh, this is great. It's starting,” Uriel said, stepping back away from Aziraphale and into formation. The three of them shot upwards in a burst of light, leaving Aziraphale scared, angry, and alone on the sidewalk.

“You... You… _Bad angels_!”

Emboldened by his desperation to protect Crowley, Aziraphale rushed back to the bookshop as fast as his feet would carry him. He made certain the sign was flipped to closed, locked the door, and went to work straightaway on putting in a special sort of call.

Candles lit and rug moved, he got down on his knees to pray, fully expecting to be able to speak to God. Unfortunately, he was blocked by the Metatron. After a brief, but civil, argument over who would be speaking to whom, Aziraphale gave in and said what he needed to say.

“There needn't be a war. We can save everyone!”

“The point is not to avoid the war,” the Metatron explained. “The point is to _win_ it.”

Aziraphale had only _thought_ Uriel’s earlier betrayal was the last betrayal of Heaven.

His heart not simply broken, but utterly shattered, almost to the point of no hope, he ended the conversation. Were it not for his fear of what would happen to Crowley, he might have given up.

And Aziraphale _would_ have already given up on stopping Armageddon, were it not for the accidental loophole Gabriel left for him, holding what was left of the angel in place.

_Crowley._

_He was right. He was right all along, _Aziraphale thought_. Oh, I’ve been such a fool. I have to warn him. Maybe there’s still time for us to do something. Surely Crowley will be able to come up with something. This is where he shines._

He ran, slowly and carefully, around the summoning circle to get to the phone. He didn’t notice the front door was being opened while he dialed the phone. Had he noticed, he might have remembered that he had previously locked it.

“Hello. I know where the Anti—” He was cut off by Crowley’s answering machine message.

“Well, I know who you are, you idiot. I telephoned you. Listen, I know where the Anti—”

He was cut off by Crowley this time. “Yeah, it's not a good time. Got an old friend here.”

“But—”

“You foul fiend!” Shadwell accused, surprising Aziraphale and causing him to drop the receiver. The angel argued as best he could that he was not, in fact a demon, but Shadwell was having none of it. Fearing the worst, Aziraphale attempted to keep Shadwell from stepping into the circle and getting hurt, or, as was far more likely, end up killing himself by accident.

The Witchfinder would not be stopped. Finger pointed aggressively, he advanced on the angel.

“Whatever you think you've seen, don't cross the circle, you stupid man!”

Aziraphale looked down as the light increased from underneath him. He had stepped directly into the summoning circle without preparing himself. That was it. It was all over now. His body was about to be destroyed and his spirit returned to Heaven where he would have no choice but to fall in to battle position.

“Oh, _fuck_.”

Aziraphale would never see the candle fall over as Shadwell ran out of the bookshop. Neither would he have seen it as it rolled over to ignite the papers hanging off of a low shelf.

Aziraphale would never see Crowley rushing out of his flat and down the stairs on his way to find his angel.

_ **He went to visit an old, old friend** _   
** _And it was long, long overdue_ **   
** _And though they stayed up very late_ **   
** _They never talked out of turn or tune_ **   
** _And every time they'd say goodbye_ **   
** _Well he'd just stay another while_ **   
** _They started from a distant place_ **   
** _And were so happy face to face_ **

** _The one who left wanted everything_ **   
** _The one who stayed never wanted more_ **   
** _It's not your choice, it's how you're built_ **   
** _It's in a blueprint of your soul_ **

Aziraphale would never see the fear on Crowley’s face when he couldn’t get him to answer the phone, racing towards the bookshop in a speeding Bentley.

_ **The one who left, he dropped his smile** _   
_ **And they sat quiet for a while** _   
_ **Then the one who stayed began to speak** _   
_ **And in his words, he answered why** _

_ **I'm just another drop in the bucket** _   
_ **I'm just another song on a jukebox** _   
_ **I'm just another face in the crowd** _   
_ **Another fish in the sea** _

_ **I never wanted the bright lights in my eyes, I'm much too quiet** _   
_ **I never wanted them pointing their fingers at me** _   
_ **Oh no, but…** _

_ **Something to being one of the many** _   
_ **Something to being one in the masses** _   
_ **Something to being surrounded by others** _   
_ **And not** _   
_ **Alone by yourself** _

The angel who never left wouldn’t hear the demon who did screaming his name through the fire and falling debris. He wouldn’t see the moment, after being knocked to the ground by the blast of a fire hose, that the demon, tears streaking his face while he remembered his last words to the love of his life, surrendered and lost hope.

_ **The one who left he knew it then** _   
_ **And he would never doubt again** _   
_ **He loved this life, he loved his friend** _   
_ **But he'd keep running 'til the end** _   
_ **All words they said hovered above** _   
_ **All of the pain, all of the love** _

Crowley never found Aziraphale in the fire.  
In being the one who stayed, Aziraphale was already gone.


	12. I Must Go On Standing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Leaving Heaven in the Search for Light

Aziraphale found himself spat out into a bright, white corridor. He felt strange, out of breath and disoriented as he staggered around trying to get his bearings. He was somewhat looser, unbalanced. Had he not been so distracted by being in the middle of it, he might have realized his unsteadiness was because he suddenly felt lighter being without a body after being locked into one for over 6000 years.

He was rebooting, in a manner of speaking. Being inconveniently discorporated tended to do that to an angel. He was rebooting without the proper preparation, like unplugging a computer rather than shutting it down properly. He needed more time for his systems to catch up with the changes. Without thinking anything more about it, because he had no understanding that there was even anything to think _about_ yet, he pressed his left hand against his stomach in an attempt to tamp down the strange, dull ache within his center.

“You! You’re late,” a booming voice echoed from behind him.

“Yes! Um, uh…” Aziraphale spun around to view the face behind the voice. “Actually, I— ooh,” he grabbed his leg with his right hand as he stumbled. He limped forward slightly as he spoke. “I, I didn’t mean to be here, um, yet.”

Everything was still quite murky as memory and thought attempted to knit together to form recognition. He could remember some things, knew what they were, but only flashes. It was just enough to leave him shaky and uncertain. Even the effort of walking was exaggerated, as he continued, out of a habit he didn’t even realize he had formed, to move a body he no longer possessed.

“Aziraphale, isn't it? Principality, Angel of the Eastern Gate. Your whole platoon is waiting for you.” The Quartermaster handed a folded uniform and helmet to Aziraphale, gestured towards a line of uniformed angels standing at attention, and then back down at the log open in front of him on the podium.

“Aziraphale… Aziraphale… Why is that name so familiar? Hang on.

Aziraphale...” The Quartermaster looked back down at the log. “You were issued with—”

He saw a note, underlined and highlighted, in the file.

> ** _ Priority Alert Alpha: All discorporations of Aziraphale, Principality, Angel of the Eastern Gate, are to be reported immediately to Archangel Gabriel or Archangel Michael. Any replacement corporations must be signed off on by Archangels Gabriel or Michael only. No exceptions. _ **

“A flaming sword, I know,” Aziraphale flustered. “It's not my fault. She was having a _very_ bad day, and I—"

“You were issued with a body!” The Quartermaster interrupted, wide-eyed with concern. “Where is it?”

“Um…” Aziraphale looked down at his right hand as it phased in and out of view momentarily, though the golden glint of the ring on his pinky remained bright. “I, I, I'm afraid I hadn't actually prepared to step into the transportation portal, you see.” He waved his hand about as he spoke, gesturing around himself. “And the body discorporated.”

Still trying to regain equilibrium, Aziraphale only had two systems up and running so far, and both were nervous; dither and smile.

“Discorporated?” 

“It _was_ 6,000 years old,” Aziraphale reasoned.

“I count them all out, and I count them all in again,” the Quartermaster angrily stepped around the podium. “And then you turn up,” his voice steadily increased in volume, “late for Armageddon, no flaming sword, not even a body, you pathetic excuse for an angel!”

Aziraphale still couldn’t remember everything just yet, but he knew three things for certain:

  1. One, there was something important that he was trying to do before he was discorporated. He wasn’t certain what it was, but he knew he had to see it through. It resonated within him that he had some purpose that hadn’t finished loading up, but it was coming, and he’d know it soon enough.
  2. Two, the dull ache in his center was growing into something more frantic. It was as if some cosmic force wanted to pull him somewhere. It was trying to guide him towards something blurry that he saw the shape of, but couldn’t quite make out the details. One thing was for certain. He _knew_ if he didn’t find it, the feeling would only get worse.
  3. And three, well, the third item on the list was more like a bit of Déjà vu. He may have been shifted around and repackaged as a soldier, but that wasn’t what he was created for. He knew that much. He knew this wasn’t the first time he had been called pathetic. It wasn’t the first time he had been admonished for being _less_ than a proper angel. But somehow, this time, maybe it felt different. Maybe this time he didn’t mind not being a model angel. It may have had something to do with the other two things he knew for certain in their uncertainty.

“Well, I suppose I am, really. I mean I have no intention of fighting in _any_ war.” He put the uniform and helmet down on the podium. Aziraphale didn’t strictly need to know who or what he _was_ to know what he _wasn’t_.

Every angel standing at attention turned their heads to stare in utter disbelief at his words. That was simply not done. It was nearly unheard of. There had only been one case of a disobedient angel who didn’t Fall during the Rebellion, and he had been essentially banished from Heaven for the last 6000 years. The Archangels had made certain to inform everyone as an example, though it hadn’t been necessary, as all who remained in Heaven followed orders unerringly.

“Don't be a coward!” The Quartermaster yelled to the benefit of the row of soldiers behind him. He leaned into Aziraphale and spoke more carefully and cautiously, almost in a whisper that only the two of them could hear. “You get into position right now, and I won't say anything more about the body you discorporated.” He would deal with the Archangels as soon as he could get this rogue angel in line. “We can take the sword out of your celestial wages.” Aziraphale’s platoon wasn’t due for the front lines yet, the Quartermaster reckoned. There was a little bit of time to get things squared away.

“I was in the middle of something important,” Aziraphale wasn’t sure what, but he was so strongly compelled to _something_ that the desperation bled out into his voice. “I demand to be returned!”

_I have to get back to... Someone? I have to tell him I was wrong. He needs me right now. I think. Is that what this feeling is?_

“Without a body? That’s ridiculous,” the Quartermaster said as he picked up a pen to go over the log.

_Oh, right. I don’t have a body. Although…_

“Is it?”

“Obviously,” the Quartermaster scoffed. “What are you going to do? You can’t possess them.”

_Demons_.

“Demons can,” Aziraphale said as the ache in his center began to pulse into a steady rhythm. He might have thought it resembled a heartbeat if he had a heart at the time to compare it to_. _

_Why am I thinking about demons right now?_

“You aren’t a demon. You’re an angel.”

_I’m getting the impression that perhaps I’ve been an angel for far longer than I should have been comfortable with._

“What are you…” There was a large spinning globe across the way, complete with land masses, oceans, and clouds. It was the Earth. The Quartermaster watched as Aziraphale made his way towards it. “Where are you going?”

Aziraphale studied the globe in front of him. “How does one navigate?” Tentatively, he reached out to it. “Oh, well…”

“Get away from that thing!” The Quartermaster yelled.

“I'll figure it out as I go,” Aziraphale said to himself. When he tapped his finger delicately against a point on the map, he was pulled in with a rather undignified cry of surprise.

Aziraphale felt himself tumbling through alternating flashes of bright fading into dark. It was a strange sensation, being simultaneously terrified and excited. He had no idea where he was headed, but he could feel an unknown force unmistakably pulling him towards something vital.

The drum beat heart analog rhythm at his core had reached a fever-pitch as he fumbled through the darkness. He could see the soft glow of _something_ up ahead. It was his _something_. He didn’t know what it was, but he knew that he _needed_ it.

The closer he got, the stronger the warmth permeated him to his very core. It was both familiar and not. He couldn’t quite place it, as if trying to pinpoint and separate which grains of sand were warmed by the sun against those which were warmed by the fingers sifting through it.

The soft light surrounded him in cascading shades of a golden fiery sunset. It soothed him, almost, but not quite caressing as they danced along his edges. He heard a whisper of a laugh and was delighted to discover it was his own.

_Why does this feel so familiar? I think I belong here. Is this home?_

He looked around for something, but all he could see was the gentle light before him shimmering in the darkness. He sat in front of it, captivated by its beauty and stilled by its comfort.

An achingly familiar voice broke through the silence, stirring and renewing the fluttering frenzy of longing caged within his being.

“Aziraphale?”

The angel gasped as he looked around wildly for the source of the voice that called to him. He desperately needed to understand how he knew that voice, and why it was so precious to him.

The lights in front of him started to shift into a form before him in the darkness. They extended upwards into a tall, angular shape. Two golden orbs shone down on him tenderly, surrounded by a gentle halo of fire.

_Crowley_.

It was all coming back to him now. Armageddon, war, the Antichrist, Tadfield, Crowley...

_I can feel you, but I can't see you._

“I’m trying to get drunk. Failing.” The lights flickered. “Are you here?” The lights asked him.

“Good question,” Aziraphale replied, looking around. “Not certain. Never done this before. Can you hear me?”

“Of course I can hear you,” the lights replied, shifting slightly.

_Oh._

“Afraid I've rather made a mess of things,” Aziraphale said.

_I should have trusted you more than I did. Well, that’s not entirely true. I trusted you just fine. I should have been more realistic with my expectations of how much I could trust anyone **else**._

“Did you go to Alpha Centauri?”

“Nah, I changed my mind. Stuff happened.” The lights flickered and dimmed. “I lost my best friend.”

“I'm so sorry to hear it,” Aziraphale replied.

_I was so cruel to you. I’ll find a way to make it up to you, somehow, if we can make it through this. But I’m going to need your help to do it._

“Listen, back in my bookshop there's a book I need you to get.”

The light darkened. “Oh, look, your bookshop isn't there anymore.”

“Oh?” Aziraphale’s breath hitched, a habit tied to the shock he felt.

“I'm really sorry,” blue and purple shadows began to seep into the edges of the light. “It burned down.”

“All of it?”

The warmth that once emanated from the light began to cool as it further dimmed. “Er, uh, m… Yeah. What, what was the book?”

“The one the young lady with the bicycle left behind,” Aziraphale answered. “The Nice and Accurate Prophecies of—”

The light burst into bright, warm flames again. “Agnes Nutter! Yes, I took it!”

“You have it?” Aziraphale asked, hopefully.

The lights danced before him in delight. “Look, souvenir!”

Hope renewed, Aziraphale explained what he had discovered.

“Look, wherever you are, I'll come to you.” The lights reached for him again. “Where are you?” 

Aziraphale reached back out towards the light, not quite letting the flickering plume tickle his hand. He wanted nothing more than to be consumed by it, but now was not the time. There was too much risk, too much at stake. 

“I, I, I'm not really anywhere yet,” he explained. “I've been discorporated.”

“Oh.” The light dimmed again.

“You need to get to Tadfield Air Base.”

“Why?” The light flickered slightly.

“World ending. That's where it's all going to happen. Quite soon now. I'll head there, too.” He thought for a moment. “I just need to find a receptive body. Harder than you'd think.”

The light danced playfully. “I'm not going to go there.”

“I do need a body. Pity I can't inhabit yours.”

Shades of red in the lights deepened in what could have been construed as a bit of a blush. “Ooh.”

“Angel, demon… Probably explode.”

The light shifted slightly green as it shimmered. “Bleh.”

“So, I'll meet you at Tadfield,” Aziraphale said, determination returning. “But we're both gonna have to get a bit of a wiggle-on.”

The light flickered and popped. “What?”

“Tadfield Air Base,” he reminded as he readied himself.

“I heard that. The light began shifting back to red, but where previously had been a blush now grew more heated. “It was the _wiggle-on_.”

As much as it pained him to do so, Aziraphale moved away from the light.

He had lots to do and very little time in which to do it. It was time to begin his search for a body.


	13. Your Legs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An Angel, A Demon, and The Antichrist walk into an Airbase...

Aziraphale noticed a small, but distinct, light in the distance. Though diminutive in comparison to the quasar-like-beacon that was Crowley, it shone bright. It was a tiny hot-pink neon sign flashing seductively in the darkness. It reminded him of nights walking the streets of Soho.

He had found Madame Tracy to be not only willing to play host to his spirit, but quite amenable to a journey to avert the apocalypse. As they worked out a way to communicate with one another, Aziraphale discovered that Sergeant Shadwell was her neighbor. In spite of the way the last meeting between the angel and the witchfinder had ended, they convinced Shadwell to accompany them to the end of the world. All it would take was a moped, a miracle, and some moxie.

As it turned out, the end of the world had an armed guard.

The faint sounds of Bohemian Rhapsody, accompanied by a loud, automotive roar in the distance, heralded the arrival of a demon in a flaming car at the end of the world.

_Crowley_.

Aziraphale could feel Madame Tracy’s excitement as a tall, lanky demon exited the burning car.

“You wouldn’t get that sort of performance from a modern car,” Crowley remarked.

“Crowley!”

“Hey, Aziraphale! I see you found a ride,” Crowley said as he sauntered over to them. “Nice dress. Suits you.”

Between Aziraphale and Madame Tracy, their body nearly swooned.

“This young man won’t let us in,” he told the demon.

“Leave it to me,” Crowley leaned in towards Madame Tracy to reply.

Aziraphale felt her shiver and became distracted. Everything seemed to happen all at once. The gates opened and closed, letting a group of children on bicycles through. There was yelling, and then a loud boom as the Bentley exploded behind them.

Crowley dropped to his knees to mourn the Bentley while the guard drew his weapon.

“Crowley. He's got a gun,” Aziraphale began to panic. “He's pointing it. Do something!”

“I am having a moment here,” Crowley said, his face wild with anxiety and sorrow.

_And I can see that. It has been a trying day for everyone, I’m quite sure, but we don’t have time for this now!_

“Crowley!” Aziraphale was frustrated.

_You want to be a big, bad demon? Then **be** one!_

“I am the nice one,” Aziraphale argued. “You can't expect _me_ to do the dirty work.”

_If I directly hurt this human, I give up any chance of circumventing Gabriel’s orders ever again. If I defy God’s order, it’s all over._

_Unless…_

Aziraphale had an idea.

Shadwell pointed at the soldier. “I'm going to count to three, then I'm going to use my finger.”

The soldier gave an ultimatum. “Ma'am, I'm giving you all five seconds to vacate this area!”

Aziraphale rolled Madame Tracy’s eyes at Shadwell and clicked her tongue as he snapped her fingers. The soldier disappeared, hopefully finding himself at home and quite happy to be there.

“Nice work on the soldier,” Crowley said as he walked up.

“Oh, I do hope I haven't sent him somewhere unpleasant,” Aziraphale replied.

Crowley grinned. “Aren’t you going to introduce me to your new body?”

“Oh, yes. Right. Madame Tracy, this is Crowley. He’s…” Aziraphale faltered slightly out of a 6000-year-old habit. “Well, we’re sort of business associates.”

Madame Tracy knew better than to believe that. “Charmed, I’m sure.”

Their attention was drawn to a group of approaching vehicles.

“Oh. Okay,” Crowley eyed the soldiers nervously. “I need to get over the car thing. I'll deal with them.”

“Never fear, laddie,” Shadwell grinned triumphantly as he stuck his hand up to point. “I've got a finger.”

“You may need to brandish your weapon, Sergeant Shadwell,” Aziraphale stated. “We are here to lick some serious butt.”

"_Kick_, Aziraphale. It's _kick_ butt. For Heaven's sake.” Crowley visibly crumpled, almost missing a step as he groaned. “Oh! I can't believe I just said that.”

Madame Tracy murmured to Aziraphale, “You said that on purpose, didn’t you?”

“Madame, I’m quite sure I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he replied as they watched the demon in front of them walking, the face they shared alternating between an expression of embarrassment and amusement.

They continued towards the soldiers. After Crowley had gotten rid of them, the group piled into one of the jeeps left behind.

“I can see what you see in him,” Madame Tracy whispered. “He’s really quite handsome, if you like that sort of thing.”

Aziraphale sighed through Tracy’s mouth. “I do, I really do. But he’s so much more than just a pretty face.”

“Yes, I could see that when he was walking ahead of us,” she grinned.

“Madame Tracy!” He admonished.

“Oh, do calm down, Mr. Aziraphale. I can appreciate fine art without having to touch it.”

_Oh,_ Aziraphale thought. _Touch. I can’t touch him now._

Aziraphale tried to remember the last time he had touched Crowley.

_He kissed me in Tadfield,_ he remembered. _Not too far from here, as a matter of fact. I thought he was opening the door, but he surprised me. I don’t know if we’ll ever have a moment like that again now. No one ever really thinks the last time will be the last time, do they? I certainly never thought—_

Madame Tracy reached up to wipe the tear that ran down her cheek. “Mr. Aziraphale?” she whispered cautiously. “Are you quite all right, dear?”

“I’m afraid I don’t know how to answer that question right now,” he replied.

_It’s all gone. I’ll never have it again. _

Aziraphale was lost in his own melancholy as the jeep pulled up to where the Horsepeople had assembled. He followed Crowley out of the jeep and over towards the Antichrist, staying close by his side.

“That’s him. The curly one,” Crowley said to Shadwell, pointing towards Adam. “Shoot him, save the world.”

“But he’s… He’s only a wee bairn!” Shadwell protested. You can’t just—"

“Oh, for Heaven's sake,” Aziraphale barked. “Give me that!” The angel yanked the Thundergun out of Shadwell’s hands and turned to face the Antichrist.

_It’s too late for me, but I can save everyone else. I can save Crowley. I can do this. I’ll do this. I’ll save the humans, and I’ll save Crowley. And then, I don’t know what will happen to me, but that’s all right, because there was never really any hope left for me, anyway. I couldn’t give him what he wanted, but I can at least give him the world. I can at least give him a chance._

“You can't just shoot children!” Madame Tracy shouted, dragging Aziraphale from his thought-pit.

_Wait, what am I doing?_

“Perhaps we should wait,” Aziraphale faltered.

“What, till he grows up?” Crowley shouted in a panic. “Shoot him, Aziraphale!” The demon’s voice cracked as he yelled the angel’s name.

Aziraphale couldn’t bear to hear such distress in Crowley’s voice, let alone watch the dread further contort the demon’s face. It was too much. He took aim at the Antichrist and pulled the trigger.

Suddenly, the Thundergun was yanked upward. It bellowed out a cacophony of discordant notes along with sparks, whistles, and a brick headed to some far-away location.

“I'm sorry,” Tracy said, trying to catch her breath after fighting the angel inside of her. “I couldn't let you do it.”

“Excuse me,” Adam interrupted. “Why are you two people?”

“Uh, long story,” Aziraphale began. “You see, I was in my bookshop—”

“It's not right,” Adam interrupted. “You should go back to being two separate people again.”

With a shuddering sigh, Aziraphale was pulled from Madame Tracy’s body and given a body of his own.

Aziraphale, now being separated from Madame Tracy, felt lighter somehow than he had in his entire time on Earth. He attempted to adjust to being in this new body the Antichrist had provided him.

_How is this possible?_

They watched with fascination as four children and a little dog defeat the four Horsepeople of the apocalypse one by one. It was inspiring, really, that even these young humans could have such brave hearts.

_And to think that I almost threw everything away. I had no idea_. He smiled, laughing quietly to himself. _Adam didn’t need us to teach him right from wrong at all._

Aziraphale smiled. “There. You see, Crowley? It's like I've always said—"

“Oh, it isn’t over.” Crowley, who always had a plan or at least the inclination to come up with one, was unusually pessimistic. “Nothing's over. Both Heaven and Hell still want their war,” he said, looking at Aziraphale with the pained eyes of exhaustion and despair.

The demon turned his attention towards the kids standing off to the side. “You. Boy. Antichrist, what was your name again? Adam Young. So your friends got together and saved the world. Well done. Have a gold star. Won't make any difference.”

Crowley never spoke to children that way. Aziraphale hadn’t seen him this hopeless in centuries, at least, and _never_ around children. He always found a way to comfort them, to protect them, even when all hope was otherwise lost. But the past had been terribly unkind to the demon, and had hardened his heart over with much scar tissue. Aziraphale felt a pang of regret in how many of those scars bore his name. He was beginning to think that the events of the day may have affected the demon much more than he first thought.

“You! You're the man in the car.” The angel and the demon looked up at the sound of a semi-familiar voice. “You stole my book.”

“Oh, book girl,” Crowley replied, tossing the book her way. “Catch.”

As the book sailed through the air, a tiny, scorched scrap of paper slipped out. It fluttered around slightly before landing directly into Aziraphale’s hand.

> ** _When alle is fayed and all is done, ye must choofe your faces wisely, for soon enouff ye will be playing with fyre._ **

“What is going on out here?” The occultist velocipede operator asked.

Crowley shook his head. “Long story. No time.”

Anathema stood her ground. “Well, try me.”

“Uh… Okay.” Aziraphale began to tell the story of how he and Crowley first met. “So, uh in the beginning, in the Garden, there was…” Aziraphale pointed to Crowley. “Well, _he_ was a wily old serpent,” he said with a bit of a wiggle before pointing to himself. “And _I_ was technically on apple tree duty.”

Crowley gently shushed him, shaking his head gently.

_Fine, _he thought_. But it really **is** a lovely story. That’s the first time I’ve ever been able to even **attempt** to tell it to anyone._

Thunder boomed through the air as the ground shook beneath them. Aziraphale felt the unwelcome prickle of ozone-tinged dread as lightning struck and Gabriel appeared. It seemed strange that an angel would fear an Archangel more than the Prince of Hell that was dusting off zir shoulders after emerging out of the ground in flames. The angel felt the cold wash of ice water rush through him as Gabriel’s chilling violet eyes locked with his own as the Archangel walked past. Nervously, he reached for his neck, straightening his tie and jacket at the last moment. He tried not to panic as Gabriel stared him down on the tarmac, furious eyes attempting to bore a hole in his very core.

Aziraphale stood, unable to take his eyes off of the artificial smile plastered across Gabriel’s face as he spoke to the Antichrist. He barely registered what was being said until Gabriel laughed the hollow, condescending laugh that had haunted Aziraphale for thousands of years.

“Obviously! It's the Great Plan. It's the entire reason for the creation of the Earth.”

“I've got this. Adam when all this is over, you're going to get to rule the world. Don't you want to rule the world?”

“It's hard enough having to think of things for Pepper and Wensley and Brian to do all the time so they don't get bored,” Adam said without hesitation. “I've got all the world I want.”

_I almost extinguished that light, _Aziraphale thought, sparing a quick glance at Madame Tracy. _Ah, you wonderful woman, you follow in the great tradition of Mary of Magdala. Thank you, Madame Tracy, for reminding me of who I am._

“Well, you can't just refuse to be who you are!” Aziraphale’s eyes widened at Gabriel’s words. “Your birth, your destiny, they're part of the Great Plan.”

_I have to do something._

“Um,” Aziraphale cleared his throat as he stepped over to stand behind Adam. “Excuse me, you keep talking about the Great Plan.”

“Aziraphale, maybe you should just keep your mouth shut,” Gabriel said, motioning with his hands for Aziraphale to stop talking.

“One thing I'm not clear on,” Gabriel’s eye twitched as Aziraphale continued speaking over him in spite of the Archangel’s order. “Is that the Ineffable Plan?”

_Did I say that out loud? _

“The Great Plan!” Beelzebub exclaimed, unaware of the revelation happening within the angel in front of her. “It is written. There shall be a world, and it shall last for 6,000 years and end in fire and flame.”

_What did I just do?_

Crowley’s eyes darted around as he began to realize the gravity of what had just happened while Gabriel’s confused glare at Aziraphale intensified.

“Yes, yes, that sounds like the Great Plan,” Aziraphale continued._ How is this possible? _“Just wondering, is that the Ineffable Plan as well?”

Gabriel was flustered, both by Aziraphale’s disobedience as well as the question itself. Gabriel had rarely been one to think for himself, after all. He was more likely to move in the direction he was guided into. “Well, they're the same thing!”

Realization washed over Crowley as he whispered, “You don't know.” He stepped over to stand next to Aziraphale. “Uh well,” the demon stammered. “It'd be a pity if you'd thought you were doing what the Great Plan said, but you were actually going directly against God's Ineffable Plan.” He paused, looking around at the others on the tarmac. “I mean, everyone knows the Great Plan, yeah? But the Ineffable Plan is well, it's ineffable, isn't it? By definition, we can't know it.”

_Oh, you clever demon. You are brilliant, aren’t you?_

Beelzebub was visibly dismayed. “But it izzz written.”

Gabriel, desperate for something to say, blurted out, “God does not play games with the universe.”

“Where have _you_ been?” Crowley asked, sharing a look with Aziraphale, who was otherwise lost in thought.

_I just defied Gabriel. I shouldn’t have been able to do that,_ he thought. He looked down at his hand, gently tugging at his ring to see the smooth, unmarked skin underneath. _Even without the markings, I shouldn’t have been able to refuse something that simple…_

It was at that moment that he realized something he had been too busy to recognize before while he was still adjusting to the new corporation. The tight, restrained feeling in his head and chest, that he was so accustomed to that it had become a part of him, was gone. He could feel the recently-muted warmth and light that had not only returned, but was brighter than he ever remembered it since being on Earth.

_Crowley_.

He had been so distracted while inhabiting Madame Tracy that he hadn’t even recognized it. The tingling excitement and fluttering she felt when Crowley showed up had been his own.

He was pulled momentarily from his reverie when Gabriel yelled over towards him. “Well, at least we know whose fault it is!”

He waved and smiled a genuinely pleased smile at the Archangel for what was likely the first time since before the Rebellion, not even taking in the rest of the conversation.

_I can feel Her again, and I have a choice now. Heaven doesn’t hold me anymore. They can’t make me do **anything** I don’t want to do._

_I’m finally **free**._

His joyful musing was quickly interrupted when the two leaders of Heaven and Hell mentioned contacting the boy’s father. Aziraphale and Crowley exchanged a look just before the Archangel and the Prince disappeared.

The ground vibrated beneath their feet. Crowley dropped to the ground, crying out in pain. “No! No! No! No, _no, no, no, no, no, no_!”

“What's happening?” Aziraphale asked. “I can feel something.”

_I don’t know what this is. It’s too intense._

_“_They did it. They told his father,” Crowley explained, his face to the ground, voice low and rumbling with pain.

“Oh, no,” Aziraphale said, quietly.

_That’s a bit of an understatement._

Crowley, still on the ground, continued. “And his Satanic father is not happy.”

“What's happening?” Shadwell shouted.

“Well, you can call me an old silly, but it looks like the devil is coming,” Aziraphale answered. “Satan himself.”

The ground continued to shake and tremble, knocking Crowley back down to the ground as he tried to get up. The people standing on the tarmac stumbled back and forth as they shouted in fear and confusion.

“Right,” Crowley managed to bring himself up to his knees in front of Aziraphale. “That was that.” He took a shuddering breath. “It was nice knowing you.”

_Oh, Crowley, no. This isn’t goodbye. It can’t be._

“We can't give up now.”

_We’re almost on the other side of this, on **our** side! Can’t you see it? _

“This is Satan himself. It isn't about Armageddon,” the demon said, wild-eyed and despondent. “This is personal. We are _fucked_!”

Though Aziraphale had only known about some of it, Crowley had been losing _everything_ he held most dear repeatedly over the last 24 hours. From the bandstand to the sidewalk to the bookshop fire, everything kept piling up and getting worse. He was tired long before the day had even begun. Reality didn’t change his perception of events as they happened. He had felt each and every one of the losses as fully as if they had been permanent. He had been running on fumes for hours, and it was evident in the lines of soot and worry on his face.

Aziraphale didn’t have time to consider this. The ground shook harder. It was almost too late.

_This is our time, Crowley! Don’t you understand? I’m finally free! It can’t be the end, not now! Stay with me, please!_

Frantic, Aziraphale grabbed his sword off of the ground, standing before the demon. The vibrato of false bravado rattled his voice as he shouted. “Come up with _something_, or—”

The look of horrified sorrow and disbelief on Crowley’s face as he looked between the sword and the angel caught Aziraphale off guard. He had seen that face more times over thousands of years than he could admit without shame. Every other time, he had no control over his actions. This time, he had caused Crowley to feel that hurt all on his own. Aziraphale lowered the sword he hadn’t even realized he had raised and spoke in a quieter voice. “Or I'll never talk to you again.”

For Crowley, that was worse than the end of the world. The demon leapt to his feet, throwing his hands up into the sky with a mighty growl. A demon, covered in soot and tattered clothing, holding a tire iron, had stopped time for an angel.

The angel, the demon, and the Antichrist stood far away from the airbase, surrounded by light. The demon shared what it meant to believe in oneself, the Antichrist embraced what it meant to be human, and the angel understood what it meant to have faith.


	14. Sing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What Happened The Night The World Didn't End.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There are bits of dialogue from The Demon In the Music Box here to refresh the reader's memory, and to keep with the flow of the story as we go from the bus stop to the morning after the Apocalypse-That-Wasn't.
> 
> The rating was changed from Mature to Explicit for this chapter.
> 
> If you want to skip over the explicit part, it begins with "The demon leaned up to silence the dithering angel above him with a kiss" and ends with, "You are a ridiculous thing."

An angel and a demon sat quietly under the stars on a bus stop.

“I’m sorry about the car. I know how much you liked it,” Aziraphale said quietly. “Perhaps if you concentrated really hard…” He took a sip directly from a bottle of wine, then passed it to Crowley.

“It wouldn’t be the same,” Crowley shook his head sadly, taking a drink. “I had it from new, you know.” He leaned his head back, looking at the angel as he offered the bottle back.

“I do, yes.” Aziraphale couldn’t help but think about all of the lines and furrows, the harsh angles and sharp corners that had accumulated on the demon’s face over time. These lines were his reminder, a monument to the damages inflicted over thousands of years.

_Yes, _he thought._ Still good, but never quite the same._

_I did that. I did that to you._

He took a deep drink and passed the bottle back.

They continued like this, talking and drinking, trying to process the events of the day. The summoner returned to collect the tools of the Apocalypse once more for safe keeping. A bus pulled up as the summoner loaded the box into the International Express delivery truck.

“Oh, there it is.” Aziraphale’s brow furrowed in confusion. “It says "Oxford" on the front.

“Yeah, but he'll drive to London anyway,” Crowley explained. “He just won't know why.”

“I suppose I should get him to drop me off at the bookshop,” Aziraphale said without thinking.

The lines on Crowley’s face grew visibly deeper as he looked up at Aziraphale. Mouth suddenly gone dry, he licked his lips and spoke quietly, with as much tender kindness he could muster in his current state. “It burned down, remember?”

_Oh. Right._

A tiny sliver of hope broke through the cracks in the demon’s face. “You can stay at my place.” He paused for a moment, then added, “if you like.”

_You really are a good person. Too good for the likes of me._

Though Aziraphale’s newly-minted heart skipped a beat, the habits formed after 6000 years of requited longing and fear weren’t easy to break in a single afternoon.

“I don't think my side would like that,” Aziraphale demurred in spite of himself.

“You don’t have a side anymore.” Crowley looked at him longingly. “Neither of us do.” He took a deep breath. “We’re on our own side.” He exhaled through his nose. “Like Agnes said, we are going to have to choose our faces wisely.” He raised his hand to signal the bus to stop.

“You’re right,” Aziraphale smiled as they stood up off of the bench. “Of course.” Fresh realization washed over him like a warm bath in winter, but not without the icy chill reminder on the skin above the water. It was a mixed blessing. He had lost his bookshop, but he gained his freedom.

The two of them boarded, sitting side by side on the bus, hand in hand, for the first time. Crowley held Aziraphale’s hand between his own, bringing it up to place a loving kiss upon the knuckle of the angel’s thumb. Aziraphale leaned in closer and let out a quiet, but satisfied, sigh.

Aziraphale knew this was only temporary, this haven of the number 6 bus to Oxford. They had until the doors opened in Mayfair, and then it would be all over. They would once more be looking over their shoulders for whatever might be coming.

He never wanted this bus ride to end.

But, as good things tend to, it ended far too soon. They entered Crowley’s flat, finding themselves in almost, but not quite, the same rhythm they had existed in before.

Aziraphale made room for Crowley to lean his head back next to him on the couch. “Are you tired, my dear?”

“Exhausted,” the demon said through closed eyes.

_Oh, I suppose you are._

“Are you going to sleep?” Aziraphale asked, quietly, both hopeful and afraid.

_There’s so much we need to… I think we should… We might… Well, I don’t know what to do with myself right now._

“No, just… just thinking.”

They laughed and teased one another for a bit, a welcome respite in the conversation Aziraphale was trying to have.

“I think there are some things we ought to discuss,” Aziraphale tried to continue, “if you’re amenable.”

Crowley sighed without looking away from the ceiling. “That’s going to depend on the topic, Angel. I don’t know how amenable I’m prepared to be just now.”

“That’s sort of what I’m getting at. We… We don’t know if… If we’re going to…If, if they… Heaven and Hell…” Aziraphale’s voice trailed off.

Crowley groaned slightly. “I am not currently amenable to discussing that just now.”

“No, I suppose not,” Aziraphale said quietly. “Though we do need to. But perhaps not right this second, no.”

Crowley nodded.

Aziraphale soldiered on. “But there is something else, perhaps tangentially related. Something I should tell you. Something I’ve wanted to say for a very long time now, but—"

_I'm sorry._

“Angel, I—"

“You don’t have to, you know,” Aziraphale whispered. “It’s all right if you don’t.”

_I’m not sure if I’m more scared that you do or that you don’t forgive me._

“I do, and I do… because I _do_,” Crowley replied.

The angel looked at the demon, eyes shining with a mixture of hope and fear.

_I don’t deserve your forgiveness, yet you give it freely._

“You… you do?”

Aziraphale watched Crowley struggle to speak for what felt like an eternity. “Crowley?” He tilted his head, their eyes locking together momentarily.

The demon took a deep breath, paused, and let out a strangled growl. The tight, strained smile that thinned Crowley’s lips nearly broke Aziraphale’s heart.

_Oh._

The angel jumped up to collect their glasses. “I suppose you’ll be wanting to get some sleep. I’ll just... tidy up a bit.”

“Sssit down, Angel,” Crowley murmured. “I’ll… You’re my guest. Let me do that.” Without looking back, he stepped into the kitchen.

_Off to a smashing start, aren’t we?_

Aziraphale gave him a few minutes before following. It didn’t take a book of prophecy to know when something was the matter with Crowley.

It took some arguing and convincing, and a very damp tea towel and kitchen floor, but he managed to get Crowley to agree to a bath to wash away the dirty footprints of the past few days that had been stomped all the way through the demon.

Aziraphale didn’t want to think about what was going to happen tomorrow. He had already lived thousands of years worried about each tomorrow. They shouldn’t have even had tonight. But here they were, and he was going to do his level best to live in the moment. He wasn’t having any of Crowley’s talk of impending doom and loss. It just wasn’t going to happen, not on his watch.

He regretted not having been to Crowley’s flat sooner. _How could you stand things being so one-sided for so long? You were so patient with me. You didn’t have to be, and it means quite literally the world to me that you did. But we’re here now, aren’t we? I’d like to think maybe we’d have been here now even if the bookshop were still standing. Maybe._

As Aziraphale washed Crowley’s hair, he got lost in thought. He knew Crowley wanted to know what the Archangels had said to him today, but that was a disaster waiting to happen.

“Oh, come on, now. Give a dying demon his last wish.”

Aziraphale stiffened. “That’s not funny, Crowley,” he admonished.

“Just because it’s not funny doesn’t make it any less true. Or is the plan to wait around until it’s too late to have to tell me anyway?”

_I’m not doing this. I can’t. _

He wiped his hands off on the towel and stood up to walk away when the demon reached out to him and began to fall apart.

_You’re being ridiculous_, he thought._ But I have to accept my part in making you this way._

Aziraphale sat back down to confess his sins while he finished washing Crowley’s hair.

“You didn’t cause any of this, Crowley. It was never _you_ that hurt me back then. Well, except for one time.”

Wide-eyed and trembling of voice, Crowley asked_, _“What did I do?”

“You _left_.”

“You knew?”

“Of course. You didn’t say goodbye.”

Aziraphale took the sponge and washed Crowley’s back and shoulders as they talked of the past.

“I kept them, you should know,” Aziraphale mused as he watched the water run rivulets along Crowley’s skin. “The rose and the feather. Preserved with a miracle. I’d bring them out to hold whenever we’d fight, or something would happen and I was scared you… Well, anyway, I’d still have them if… If the bookshop hadn’t burned.”

“I would grow you so many roses. You can pluck my wings bare,” Crowley said, his voice rasping with devotion. “Anything you want, Angel, it’s yours.”

“I want _you_.”

“You have me.”

“Not if you’ve given up.”

The disagreement began simply enough, both raw with emotion, fatigue, and the weight of time bought for a world that would continue without ever knowing that an angel and demon were set to pay the price.

“Hell is _coming for me_,” Crowley argued. “They already have, and sooner rather than later, I’m not going to be able to get away. And I can’t have them coming after you to get to me, either, so…The sooner you accept that, the sooner you can move on.”

The angel blinked. “Move on.”

_What_?

“Yes.”

“You expect me to move on?” Aziraphale’s voice was deceptively calm.

_You can't be serious._

“That would be ideal, yes. I want you to be happy.”

“Happy?” His voice cracked as the pitch rose. “I’m not going to be _happy_ if you die, Crowley!”

_Do you have any idea how much that hurts to hear you say?_

“That’s not what I meant.”

“Then stop saying it,” he pleaded.

“Look, Angel, I’m, I’m trying to get you prepared for things.”

Aziraphale let out a strangled noise as realization washed over him like ice water.

_I thought… **This** was your plan? You’ve been taking great leaps and bounds to prepare me for when you **leave me again? **I don't want your flat or your artifacts or your damned television set! I want **you!**_

Aziraphale paced about the bathroom. He ran his hands through his hair in frustration. “We’ve been planning this for years, and we did it! Well, we didn’t exactly do it, but we were tangentially involved and it got done! We’re _finally_ on the other side of Armageddon. It’s what we _wanted_, what we hoped for, and all you can do is talk about leaving me _again_!”

_You made me believe, back then, Crowley._

Aziraphale was so angry, so heartbroken, that he couldn’t look directly at Crowley. He leaned his hands on the counter, his back turned, glaring at the demon’s reflection in the mirror instead.

_What happened to anywhere I wanted to go?_

“You left me _first_ this time, you bastard,” Crowley hissed, sitting up straighter in the tub and pointing his finger. “Or have you forgotten what you said to me at the bandstand after I practically proposed to you?”

_Oh, don’t you **dare** start with that. Do you think I wanted that? _

The venom in Crowley’s voice burned through to Aziraphale’s core. “_There is no **our side**, Crowley. Not anymore! It’s over!_” Crowley threw the angel’s words back at him, mockingly with a sneer.

_I was protecting you, you miserable bastard! I was trying to keep us **both** alive!_

Aziraphale spun around to glare directly into his eyes. “Fuck you.”

“Maybe you need to get used to the idea of fucking yourself, Angel,” Crowley growled under his breath.

** _STOP TRYING TO DIE AND LEAVE ME ALL ALONE!!!!!!!!!_ **

Aziraphale was so angry he threw the first thing he could grab at the demon, a bottle of perfume oil. It shattered on the wall behind him when he ducked just in time.

Crowley was _activated_. “Why do _you_ get to be mad and _I_ don’t?” He spat out and reached for a towel as he jumped out of the tub to stand before the angel.

“_Be_ mad!” Aziraphale threw his hands into the air in exasperation. “You _absolutely_ can be mad. I was wrong and I hurt you, and you _get to be mad about that!_ But what you _don’t_ get to do,” he glared as he pointed his finger at the demon toweling off in front of him, “is to throw that in my face, not when you’re so determined to leave me _now_.”

_You don’t get to walk away from me to die._

“It’s what I’ve been terrified of for the last 6000 years, and you’re just going to lie down and let them do it.” Aziraphale was fully in a rage-induced panic. “_I defied Heaven_, Crowley! I gave up _everything_ for you. _There’s_ _nothing left for me **but**_ _you!”_ Aziraphale couldn’t think. He had never felt anything so intensely before, not even when he thought Crowley wanted to use Holy water on himself.

The angel snarled, shoving everything off of the counter into the floor. He felt like he couldn’t take in enough air in spite of not needing to breathe. Eyes wild with anger and fear, he was every bit of someone who wanted to storm off, but with nowhere to go.

The two stared at one another, pain and anger rattling in each of their chests.

_What am I doing? What do we do now? _

He looked down at the mess in the floor.

_I can’t do this without you._

“I’m sorry,” Aziraphale said quietly as he kneeled down before the demon, trying to make things right.

“Don’t worry about it,” Crowley said, leaning down and taking the bottles and boxes from Aziraphale’s hand.

“I made the mess. I’ll clean it up.”

_I’m sorry. I hurt you so much that you couldn’t find your way out._

“It wasn’t just you. It was both of us. _We_ did this.”

_I did this, _Aziraphale thought_. I pushed you to this_.

As was their way, the two found the answers they needed amidst the rubble and wreckage that continually fell down around them since the dawn of time. In the calm that followed, forgiveness hung in the air as they laughed together, cried together, soothed one another, and came up with a plan.

Back in their own bodies after testing out a theory, they held onto one another under the moonlight that spilled through the window and onto the bed.

“Do you remember the last time we kissed?” Crowley asked Aziraphale’s shoulder.

_Of course I do. It’s all I could think about earlier, _Aziraphale thought to himself._ I almost gave everything up thinking that was our last kiss, the last time I could have touched you._

Aziraphale reminded him of their trip to Tadfield, how the demon had leaned over to kiss him in the car before they went into the diner. But Aziraphale didn’t want to think about last times, not now. It was too much, too real.

“I don’t want to hear any more about last times. It isn’t the end.”

“Then give me another first time, Aziraphale. The first time Heaven had no hold over you, and you were fully mine.”

There was a first that Aziraphale had been too afraid to want for a very long time. There were too many dangers involved, both physical and from their respective sides. Now that both Heaven and Hell already knew about them, and he knew they could swap essences between one another, it seemed safe enough to try.

“I can’t speak for any other angel and demon, but it seems that _we_ are… Metaphysically compatible.” Aziraphale shifted himself around to look down at Crowley.

“How did you know?” Crowley scooted up a bit to make room.

“I didn’t.”

Crowley’s eyes widened. “You what?”

“Not at first!” His eyes were wide as he nervously tried to explain. “But I thought perhaps, well, give- given the prophecy—”

The demon leaned up to silence the dithering angel above him with a kiss. As the kiss grew deeper, Crowley reached over to the bedside table. He fumbled around blindly in the drawer, not wanting to pull back from the kiss, until he found what he was after. He placed it in Aziraphale’s hand.

“I thought you said you slept alone here,” the angel grinned as he spoke playfully against the demon’s lips.

“Only you, Angel,” Crowley replied, his long fingers working at buttons in the darkness. “You’re the only one I’ve ever invited into my bed.”

Kisses turned into nuzzles that turned into caresses as they undressed one another slowly, cherishing and memorizing each movement.

Crowley looked up at Aziraphale, eyes half-lidded and shining in the pale moonlight, as he struggled to speak. “Angel, I…”

Aziraphale cut him off quickly with a press of lips in an act of mercy, choosing instead to taste the words that were trapped on the tip of the demon’s tongue.

_I know, _he thought_. You don’t have to say it. I love you, too._

The angel kneeled before the demon in the darkness. Fervent but gentle hands, the same hands that had broken and lifted heavy stones from the Garden wall and manipulated fragile glass pens and delicate brushes on wafer-thin papers, reverently prepared his beloved.

Gently, with all the love in his heart, the angel breached the demon’s entrance. He did so slowly and with reverence, showing the respect that pilgrimage into such a holy place deserved. He closed his eyes as leaned into the fingers that had found themselves twining through his hair.

If Crowley could be described as a multi-hued scorching sunset, Aziraphale could only be viewed as a brilliant-white gold sunrise. Glossy quartz prisms surrounded a halo of white light while golden rays burst forth in pinions and plumes on either side.

Once fully sheathed, Aziraphale reached through the darkness and into the fire. The fire reached back with a burning ache to consume all that was willingly given.

Upon initial contact with one another’s essences, a magnetic shock ran between the two. Crowley’s back arched, pressing the demon against Aziraphale as the angel pulled him in tightly, clawing, clinging, clutching to hold on.

He pushed his palms flat against the back of the demon’s knees, until they were pressed up against his sides. He needed to be completely enveloped within the demon. Once there wasn’t even a millimeter of space between them, he released the long legs and slid his arms up Crowley’s sides to cradle him, lifting them upright together. The demon in Aziraphale’s lap wrapped his arms around the angel’s shoulders and legs tightly around his waist, supported as they were on Aziraphale’s knees.

They sat there, wrapped together, holding one another, adjusting. When one breathed in, the other breathed out, swaying back and forth gently with the rhythm.

Crowley’s blazing fiery sunset lowered to that of a smoldering ember as it opened up to engulf the glittering golden dawn of Aziraphale.

_Sunset isn’t an ending, _Aziraphale thought_. It’s a time for peace, for renewal and rejuvenation. It’s a prelude to a beginning. We have time now, time that didn’t exist before. We get to begin anew._

Strong, possessive fingers on one hand wove through copper silken strands, tenderly gripping and pulling as the other hand pressed firmly against a sinewy lower back. Spine arched and throat exposed, the demon trembled as the angel’s tongue and teeth traced devotions into warm skin.

_Yours, yours, yours, my love. I am **yours** and you are **mine**. I will lift you up out of the shadows so you can flourish and shine. You deserve to stand in the light you’ve so desperately craved. For far too long, I denied you this. Not anymore. You are so beautiful, and I want the world to see you. Your world. Our world. _

They rocked together faster now, bodies locked in embrace as lips met lips with ravenous hunger. Aziraphale became overwhelmed as Crowley’s fiery flares drew in his own rays of gold, blending into molten light.

_I can feel you. Yes, love, I can **feel** you. I can feel everything you can’t say. You love me. You’re mine. I know, yes, I know. I love you. I see you. I love you. I feel you. I love you. I’m yours. Stay with me. Don’t let me go, not yet. I’m so close. Are you close? I can **feel** you._

The demon closed his eyes tightly, letting out an incoherent string of sounds as the angel chased deeper and deeper into his sunset flames.

The room grew darker as the two grew brighter, drawing in all the ambient light in the area.

_Look at me._

The angel’s hands were on either side of the demon’s face, pulling it closer.

** _Look at me._ **

Crowley’s eyes flew open, warm yellow citrine meeting cool blue topaz on the physical plane. Golden orbs incandescent, casting rainbows through white prisms into the surrounding darkness, the metaphysical plane grew brighter.

Without breaking eye contact, Aziraphale cradled Crowley’s head in one hand as he lowered them back down on the bed. He looked down at the demon’s wide eyes, flushed skin, and parted lips.

_I did that. I did that to you._

Unable to resist, he leaned down to kiss the demon once more, their mouths and tongues mirroring the motions of their hips. Opposing, yet complimentary, lights wound round and round one another, faster and faster. They burned brighter and brighter, fervently increasing intensity, until they flared into one blinding release.

_Let there be light._

Angel and demon alike cried out as they fell apart while still wrapped together, twin stars peaking and cresting over the horizon, golden rays bursting forth to usher in the first brand new day since Eden.

Aziraphale’s heart had never before felt so full.

Neither of the two moved, Aziraphale unable to pull away and Crowley unable to let him go. They listened to one another breathing while the beating of their hearts slowed to match rhythm into a duet in the fading darkness.

“My love…” The angel whispered tenderly, pressing his forehead against that of his partner.

“My crops…” The demon muttered incoherently before falling asleep.

_You are a ridiculous thing, aren’t you? What did I ever do to deserve your love? Tell me, and I shall continue throughout eternity. _

He pressed a soft kiss on Crowley’s forehead as he slid off and settled in next to the demon.

_I’ll get you out of Hell, I swear it. No more planning, no more running. You can relax now. It’s **my** turn. I have you, and I’m not letting you go._

_After me, my dear, they’ll be frightened._

_After this, my love, you’ll be free._

He wrapped his arms tighter around the demon at his side. For the first time in 2000 years, he closed his eyes and allowed himself to sleep.


	15. Be Afraid

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When A Good Angel Goes To Hell

Aziraphale woke up before Crowley. It wasn’t unusual for the angel to find himself awake with a sleeping demon wrapped around him. It was, however, unusual to have been asleep at all.

“I haven’t woken up to you in 2000 years,” he whispered as he pressed a kiss into the demon’s soft hair. “I don’t think I understood back then how much I would come to miss it.”

The angel gently traced his fingertips along the lines of the demon’s face, sending subtle healing through his skin.

_Sleep, my love, for a bit more. When you wake, you’ll feel more refreshed. But for now, sleep._

Later, when Crowley awoke on his own, the two discussed the things that one another needed to know in order to enact their plan.

Aziraphale found it was easier to tell Crowley about his run in with the Archangels after performing another body swap. After all, he had muddled his way through past altercations by talking himself down through the mirror. In the mirror, he didn’t have to hide his shame. But unlike the mirror, the smile on the face that looked back at him wasn’t forced. It was tender and real.

The two worked out one another’s mannerisms, and quite quickly, having known one another literally since the beginning of the world. They were pleasantly surprised at how easy it as to act as the other.

Having made arrangements to meet up at St. James Park later, it was finally time to say goodbye.

“Kiss for luck?” Crowley stepped into Aziraphale’s embrace, their lips finding one another as if drawn in magnetically. After a few minutes that went by entirely too quickly for his tastes, Aziraphale leaned down to nuzzle the demon cuddled up into his neck.

“I lo—"

Aziraphale felt Crowley’s hand frantically cover his mouth. “No, please don’t. Not where I can hear it,” the demon pleaded. “Stand in the mirror and say it all you want, all you _need_, after I leave, and know that I _do_. But please, have mercy on me and don’t make me listen to the words I can’t say spoken in my own voice. I can’t take it.”

“I’m sorry, I... I didn’t think,” Aziraphale whispered as he put on Crowley’s dark glasses. An unrecognizable, yet wholly familiar, pain shot through him.

_I don’t think I ever truly realized how much it would hurt not to be able to speak the words to you. This is what hardened you, isn’t it? Or at least part of it. This is what took your beautiful, kind face and twisted it into the hard lines and sharp angles that you’ve been struggling to escape for so long._

He inhaled sharply through his nose, exhaled through pursed lips, and suddenly the face he wore was familiarly dark and brooding. For the first time, Aziraphale thought he truly understood why.

_I did this to you._

He leaned down to return the kiss Crowley pressed upon his lips.

_I love you, I love you, I’m sorry you can’t hear it right now. I love you, I love you._

The angel closed the door as the demon ran away, neither one wanting to see the tears in the eyes of the other.

Aziraphale ran to the bathroom to stand in front of the mirror.

_You asked me to do this, and I will._

“I love you,” he sighed. “If only it were this easy.” Aziraphale reached up to touch the face he wore longingly. “If I could repair the damage I’ve inflicted upon you just by speaking my love into you, through you, you’d never feel pain again. You’d never be drowned by the weariness I flooded into your heart.”

The morning sunlight caught the privacy glass in the bathroom window just so, casting a faint rainbow on the wall.

_Never again. I promise._

Aziraphale stood in front of the mirror with his hands on the counter. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He opened his eyes again and looked into the mirror at Crowley’s reflection.

“Aziraphale,” he began to speak through Crowley’s voice, “I love you. I love you, and I forgive you. I forgive you because I need _you_ to forgive _yourself_. _I_ know you didn’t choose what happened to you any more than you chose to hurt me. I know you didn’t want any of it. But as long as you hold onto that and keep blaming yourself, Heaven still has a hold on you. And now it’s time to let that go.”

After staring at his reflection for a few more minutes, he splashed some cold water on his face and dried off with a towel. He spotted the pile of dirty clothes in the floor through the mirror and turned around to pick them up.

He heard a noise as something fell out of the jacket and into the floor.

Aziraphale picked up the small white box with golden clasps, studying it carefully for a moment before he understood what he held in his hands. His eyes shifted up slightly towards the bath tub.

“I practically proposed to you,” he said, repeating Crowley’s words from the night before.

He felt unsteady on his legs.

_“We can go off together.”_

_“We can run away together.” _

Aziraphale had to lean against the counter to keep from falling to his knees.

_Oh._

Looking at Crowley’s watch, he saw it was getting close to the time they had agreed to meet. He squared off his shoulders. “Right, nothing for it now. I can deal with this later,” he spoke into the empty room. “Until then, I have a job to do.”

Aziraphale tucked the box into the pocket of the jacket he was wearing. He picked the dirty clothes back up and carried them from the bathroom. On his search for the laundry, he found the atrium.

“Oh, you are gorgeous, aren’t you?” He asked, reaching his fingers out to trace along the trembling leaves. “He certainly spoils you all, doesn’t he? As lovely as you all are, I can’t say that I blame him. Why, you must be the most beautiful plants in all of London.” Aziraphale continued to admire the plants for a few more minutes, noticing that they shook as he passed them by. “Don’t be scared, it’s quite all right. He’s not gone. I’m simply borrowing his body for a bit. He’ll return to you. I’ll be certain of it,” he told them lovingly as he caressed their leaves.

Satisfied that the plants were sorted, he resumed his search for a proper place for the dirty laundry, then called for a car. Aziraphale smiled as he saw the Bentley parked outside. He didn’t have time to admire it, however, as his car service had arrived. Taking one last look, he left for the park.

They had just gotten ice cream when Heaven struck. Aziraphale turned around and Crowley was gone, being dragged away by Uriel, Sandalphon, and a couple of lesser angels that he didn’t recognize.

“Somebody, stop them!” He yelled, chasing after them.

A white-hot pain shot through his entire body as he dropped to the ground. He could barely see through the black spots in his vision as Crowley was dragged off into a van. Aziraphale tried to crawl to get to Crowley, reached out for him, and collapsed into the grass.

When he came to, he was handcuffed in a sickly-damp cell with flickering fluorescent light. A pair of Roman centurions led him from the cell into a larger room where a throne of horns sat before a bathtub.

This was Crowley’s trial, but it wasn’t just for treason.

Aziraphale listened as charges were levied against the demon. Most were fantastical and ridiculous, but some he knew to be true.

“And the murderer of a fellow demon,” Hastur informed the court. “A crime I saw with my own eyes.”

“Creatures of Hell,” Beelzebub spoke to the audience through the window. “You have heard the evidence against the demon known as Crowley. What is your verdict?”

The crowd chanted, jeered, and cheered, “Guilty! Guilty! Guilty!”

The Prince of Hell turned zir gaze towards Aziraphale. “Do you have anything to szzay before we take our vengeance on you?”

Aziraphale shrugged, pursing his lips slightly. “What's it to be? An eternity in the deepest pit?”

“No, we're going to do something even worse,” Hastur grinned with delight. “We’re deleting you, as painfully as we can. Letting the punishment fit the crime.”

_I don’t like you._

Aziraphale’s attention was grabbed by the sound of the lift doors opening. He couldn’t hide his surprise when he saw who walked in, holding a glistening jug of Holy water. “The Archangel Michael? That's unlikely.”

_What are you playing at?_

“It’s diplomacy,” Dagon smiled. “You ought to approve of that. Cooperation with our old enemies.”

Michael’s voice rang in his ears_. “When your cause is just you do not hesitate to smite the foe, Aziraphale.” _

More of Michael’s words flashed through his head.

_“By any means necessary. You will maintain a proper equanimity. Do not concern yourself with their protestations.”_

_“Imagine what it’s going to feel like when you lose your Grace and Fall. Think about that next time you feel like misbehaving.”_

He remembered the confrontation with the Archangels just minutes after Crowley told him that Hell was after him.

_“You've been a bit of a fallen angel, haven't you? Consorting with the enemy?”_

_“Don't think your boyfriend in the dark glasses will get you special treatment in Hell. **He's in trouble too**.”_

_How could they know that? How could they know what was happening in Hell that quickly? Unless…_

The conversation with Crowley from that morning came to mind_. “Hastur mentioned you when he and Ligur came after me as well._ _Do you think Heaven and Hell are working together? They’ve never brought up anything like this with me before yesterday.”_

_“It would seem that way, yes.”_

His eyes widened behind the demon’s dark glasses as he remembered Crowley’s words during the flood.

_“You know, it was **Michael** that cast Lucifer down. Do you remember that? Michael hasn’t said anything to you about all of this? Because it sounds to me like there are still some jealous Archangels up in Heaven who managed not to get caught during the Rebellion, and they’re **using** **you**.”_

_Crowley was right all along._

“That's Holy water,” Aziraphale said, after Michael had filled the tub.

“The holiest,” Michael confirmed. “Yes.”

“Uh, it's not that we don't trust you, Michael, but obviously we don't trust you.” Ze didn’t bother looking at the Archangel and instead addressed the Duke.

“Hastur, test it,” Beelzebub commanded.

“Hmm.” Hastur walked over to the usher and picked him up.

“What the hell do you think you're doing? Oh, ow!”

Hastur carried him over towards the tub.

“Ahh! No, no, no,” the usher panicked and begged for his life. “What have I done? No, no! Please!”

“Wrong place, wrong time,” Hastur replied, dropping the imp into the water.

“Please! Please! No!” The usher screamed as he bubbled and boiled away into nothing, not even a sheen of oil left on the water.

_This would have been Crowley,_ Aziraphale thought as he watched in horrified understanding. He knew what it meant before, but actually seeing it done made everything that much more real.

Oftentimes, when someone is faced with their own mortality, their life flashes before their eyes. It made sense, given that Aziraphale was currently inside of Crowley’s body for the demon’s death knell, that it would be snippets of Crowley that played through the mind of the Angel on the inside.

_“Met many other demons, have you?” _This memory smelled of apples and felt like warm sunshine.

_“Aziraphale, I am so **tired**. Help me, angel, **please**.” _This one felt claustrophobic and smelled of death.

_“Got recalled to Hell for a bit, right after that. You know how it is with reprimands.” _A tiny stone sinking to the bottom of a vast, dark ocean.

_“I put my entire heart into every leaf, every fruit, and every petal. It’s all for you, Aziraphale. It’s all yours, every bit of it. You can do with it whatever you like.” _The fluttering of a butterfly’s wings before becoming immobilized in a spider’s web.

_“A demon can get into trouble for doing the right thing.” _Regret. The taste of ash and dust.

_“Hello, Aziraphale.” _A heartbeat. Coming up for air from beneath floodwaters and seeing a rainbow.

He was suddenly pulled from his memories as the Prince of Hell spoke.

“Demon Crowley, I sentence you to extinction by Holy water,” Beelzebub announced. “Have you anything to say?”

Another memory flashed in his mind, briefly, but surely. It tasted of bad wine, good oysters, and relief.

_“Now mayhem, that… Give me enough time and I’ll create a spectacular mosaic of mischief. I’m an artist, really.”_

He was barely able to keep the puckish look off of his face as inspiration struck. Were it not for the dark glasses he wore, his eyes would have immediately given it away.

“Well, yes. This is a new jacket. Do you mind if I take it off?”

“Keep making jokes, funny man,” Hastur growled.

Aziraphale shrugged off the jacket carefully and hung it on the back of a chair. He pulled the tie over his head before making an attempt at the pants.

_This is so much easier from the other side,_ he thought. He wasn’t used to being the one wearing them when trying to remove the curse that was these demonic pants.

“Get on with it!” Hastur yelled.

The angel, still struggling with style to get out of Crowley’s ridiculously tight trousers, arched an eyebrow and grinned, pressing his forked-demon tongue to the back of his front teeth before he spoke. “You know, if you took the time to savor the moment now and then, you might not be quite so… _Tetchy_.”

Dagon snorted, smirking while looking off to the side when the Duke turned his head to glare back at the Lord of the Files.

Beelzebub rolled zir eyes. “We haven’t got all day.”

“Oh, but I think you _do_,” Aziraphale smirked. “I think you’ve got an _eternity_ now, don’t you? After all, isn’t that why we’re here?”

“We’re here because you killed Ligur!” Hastur yelped. “Now get in that tub or I’ll—”

“Or you’ll what?” Aziraphale interrupted, pouting adorably in a way that Crowley would never forgive him for if he ever knew. “You’ll push me in yourself?” He perched on the edge of the tub, whipped off his sunglasses, and held his arms out wide. “Come on, then,” he called out like a carnival barker. “Step right up and try your luck! Dunk the demon and win a prize!”

Hastur was livid. Beelzebub was not amused. Dagon, however, had processed enough of Crowley’s paperwork to have a bit of a sense of humor and had to turn around.

“No?” Crowley’s face looked disappointed. “Right,” he said, rolling his shoulders. “Back to it, then.” He stuck the arm of the sunglasses in his mouth to hold them as he continued trying to peel himself out of Crowley’s pants like a snake thrashing itself upon a rock to shed its skin. Or, more accurately, a fluffy, plump ermine that had never before been a snake or worn snakeskin.

Eventually, Aziraphale managed to get stripped down to socks and underthings. He carefully folded the demon’s clothes, turned around to give a sweetly-sarcastic smile, and placed them on a chair by the door.

He walked back over to the tub, sitting delicately on the edge as yet another inspiration struck. Gripping the side of the tub firmly, he swung his right leg up and over the other edge of the tub. _I am eternally impressed by how flexible you are, my dear, _he thought to himself as he reached his right hand over to grasp the other side of the tub. Gradually, he slid both of his legs up along opposite edges until he had his knees bent and pointing up with feet curled firmly over the rim of the tub on either side. Silently willing his socks not to slide, he carefully pushed himself up on his arms and legs into a semi-back bend above the tub. He gave one last glance towards the Lords of Hell, smiled in the Way of the True Bastard™, and quickly inverted his bent pose to slam his lower body down into the water. He caught himself with bent arms, legs sliding out to hook his knees over the sides just enough to not hit the bottom. A miniature tidal wave sloshed out into the floor upon impact and chased towards the spectators.

_I wonder what that ridiculously dramatic serpent of mine would do next, _the angel pondered as he splashed around in the tub, slinging water against the spectator window to hear it sizzle while the audience gasped in terror and confusion_._

_Ducks!_

“I don't suppose that anywhere in the nine circles of Hell there's such a thing as a rubber duck?” He pursed his lips, looking around. “No?”

The demons on the other side of the window gasp with each continuous flick of Holy water in their direction.

“He's gone native,” Beelzebub blurted out in shock. “He isn't one of us anymore.”

The audience continued to jump and scream.

“So, you're probably thinking,” Aziraphale said, leaning over the edge of the tub to face the Lords of Hell. "If he can do this, I wonder what else he can do?" He grinned, continuing, “And very, very soon, you're all going to get the chance to find out.”

Hastur scoffed. “He's bluffing. We can take him.” He started to laugh. “One demon against the rest of Hell? What's he going to do?”

Beelzebub cut him off. “Shut it! Get him out of here, this'll cause a riot.” The Prince of Hell shouted towards the audience. “What are you all looking at? Nothing to see. Nothing to see here.”

The bell of the lift heralded in the Archangel Michael. “I came to bring back the—”

Her eyes went wide as she stopped mid-sentence. “Oh, Lord.”

“Michael!” Aziraphale greeted her brightly. “Dude! Do us a quick miracle, will you? I need a bath towel.” He reached out towards the Archangel as she, still in shock, handed him a brilliantly white bath towel without question.

“I think it would be better for everyone if I were to be left alone in the future.” Aziraphale looked out at all of the Lords of Hell. “Don't you?”

Aziraphale waited for the Lords of Hell to nod in agreement before turning his eyes to Michael. She nodded as well.

“Right,” he said, scrunching his nose.

_Showtime,_ he thought. _This is it. I’ve had my fun,_ but _this is where it all ends, right here, in this room._

“Oh, one more thing. Hastur, before you go,” Aziraphale waved the Duke over to him, “Just, just one more thing.”

The Duke flinched, warily eyeing the water spilled on the floor. Aziraphale noticed the hesitation and waved his hand along the edge of the tub, causing the Holy water in the floor to recede. He looked back up at Hastur with raised eyebrows and a nod, gesturing with his hand for the Duke to come closer.

Hastur took a step forward ever so slightly and scoffed nervously.

Aziraphale cupped Crowley’s hands together to scoop up water, then pulled back as if to throw it. Hastur jumped back, wide-eyed. Aziraphale laughed smugly as he lifted the water to his demon-mouth, drinking deeply before grinning back at the Duke. Hastur glowered, reaching up his hand to point. At the same time, Aziraphale took a deep breath through the nose, golden serpent eyes growing wide, and blew the mouthful of water he hadn’t swallowed out in a burst of Holy mist. Hastur, the Duke of Hell, let out a high-pitched shriek as he fell down, tripping over Dagon and scrambling backwards on his hands until he was lodged at Beelzebub’s feet.

Aziraphale grinned wickedly at the group, licked his lips with forked tongue, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, and got out of the tub. With a smirk, he maintained eye contact, darting between the three Leaders of Hell as he toweled off a bit and grabbed his clothes from the chair. He let his gaze stop when his eyes landed on the UnFallen, the only angel more comfortable in Hell than himself.

He shivered internally.

_I can **do** this. I **must** do this. I **can** do this. _

Quietly, but with every bit of terrifying awe he could muster, he spoke. “Oh, and, Michael? _I know what you’ve done_. _I know_ how you’ve manipulated and tempted others to do your bidding as if your hands would remain holy and clean. You’ve been using all of Heaven and Hell to further your own agenda, haven’t you? You even gave a _brainwashed_ and _weaponized _angel to another Archangel to manipulate.” If the rage within him leaked out just a bit as he spoke, no one questioned it. “Just because Gabriel was a willing participant doesn’t exonerate you of your responsibility in it.”

He waved his arm out in the way he had watched Crowley gesture to accentuate many speeches over the years. “And look at you, down here, attempting to destroy a demon, a _hereditary enemy_. Isn’t that convenient?” He tilted his head and pouted slightly. “You think that not being in the same room absolves you of whatever they’re doing to him upstairs?” He asked the Archangel, emulating her own tone of mock-innocence.

With a low, threatening rumble in his voice, he continued. “Did you _really_ think you could fool Her by distancing yourself and letting _others_ take the Fall? Did you _really_ think it would be just like what you did to start the Rebellion? You whisper into the ears of angel and demon alike, pull the puppet strings along just enough to get the job done, then cut and run. What’s the life of a broken angel in the grand scheme of things as long as you achieve your goals? Or even a _demon_?” He took a quick glance towards Hastur, locking eyes and nodding as he uttered the last word, ensuring the Duke understood.

“Ligur,” Hastur muttered, his fists clenching and eyes shining.

Aziraphale looked to Michael once more. Eyebrows raised, he nodded towards the Leaders of Hell. “_They_ may not all have realized it yet, but _I know_. And _very soon_, you’re going to _burn_ for it.”

Michael’s eyes widened in a mixture of shock, guilt, and fear as the empty jug slid from her hands, shattering on the ground at her feet. The Leaders of Hell exchanged worrisome, disgusted, and angry looks between one another and the demon they saw before them, glistening as he was with Holy Water, having just rumbled the very Archangel who personally sent Lucifer to Hell.

Three sets of wrathful eyes fell upon the lone Archangel.

Aziraphale slung the towel over his shoulder, gave Michael one last cheeky wink, and sauntered with decided exaggeration down the hallway to the exit.

“Ciao,” he called out, though it was unlikely anyone heard it over the free-for-all that broke out as soon as he left the room.


	16. Inherit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The First Day of the Rest of Their Lives

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you want to avoid explicit parts, here is your warning. Starts at, "He glanced around quickly, then grabbed Crowley by the arm and rushed down the path," and ends just before "They snuck back out from behind the shop."

_We met in the Garden.  
You were kind to me.  
You were so innocent and naive back then. _

_We **both** were.  
Until I met you and everything changed._

Safely in the lift, Aziraphale pulled the tiny white lacquered box with the golden clasps out of his jacket pocket.

_Good,_ he thought. _It’s still dry._

He slipped it back into the pocket and prepared himself for tortuous trouser application.

After 99 floors, Aziraphale had just managed to get the demon’s belt looped up and fastened in time for the lift doors to open in the lobby. He quickly grabbed the jacket, tie, and shirt, leaving the wet towel in the floor.

“Have fun with that wet towel,” he smirked as he watched the doors close.

He carefully put the jacket on, and then the tie, flipping the collar of the jacket just so while tucking the tie underneath. He was smoothing down the sides of the jacket when he heard the ding of the lift across the way.

_Crowley_.

The face Crowley wore shifted from panic to joy as Aziraphale watched him exit the lift and move towards him. The angel grinned and nodded towards the exit. They walked side by side as they exited the building. If an angel linked his pinky finger with that of the demon walking next to him, no one paid them any mind.

They walked to what they felt would be a safe location, Berkeley Square. They sat together on a bench in the garden and switch back into their own bodies once more.

“Time to leave the garden.” Crowley slid his knee outward. “Let me tempt you to a spot of lunch?”

It did not go unnoticed by Aziraphale.

_I may need to find a nice little nook somewhere and have desert first_, he thought as he watched the demon’s shifting thighs while he ran his hands down the tops of his own.

“Temptation accomplished,” he replied with an excited wiggle.

As they walked towards the Ritz, Aziraphale noticed a narrow passageway between two shops that were closed on Sundays. Once again, inspiration struck. He glanced around quickly, then grabbed Crowley by the arm and rushed down the path.

Crowley stammered in confusion as he was pulled along. “W-, wha-, where are we—"

The demon’s words were cut off by the angel’s lips as Aziraphale pressed Crowley back against the cool brick wall. He hungrily deepened the kiss as he hitched the demon’s legs up to wrap around his waist.

With the little room he had to do so, Crowley pulled his head back with a gasp. “Aziraphale! What are you doing?”

“Whatever I want,” he replied as he ground his hips sharply against the demon wrapped around him, eliciting a surprised yelp from the demon. Aziraphale ran his hands up through Crowley’s hair, pulling him down into another kiss.

The angel kept the demon pinned to the wall as he continued to roll their hips together, frenzy building with the friction between them. Crowley keened against Aziraphale’s lips as he trembled in the angel’s arms.

“Shhh,” Aziraphale soothed, pressing his forehead against Crowley’s without losing his rhythm. “I want to hear you, my dear, but we can’t be too loud.” He gripped his hand along the back of Crowley’s neck and pulled him down to cradle against his neck and shoulder.

Crowley was already shaking as he wrapped his arms and legs tighter around Aziraphale. “Angel, I…” his voice trailed off, breathing heavily against the angel’s ear.

“I know, love,” Aziraphale breathed against Crowley’s neck.

The angel bit down on the demon’s shoulder as he felt him begin to tense up in his arms, sending him over the edge. The muffled cry as Crowley pressed his face against Aziraphale’s neck brought the angel along right after.

They stood there, clinging to one another against the wall, breathing heavily. Crowley slowly put his wobbly feet on the ground. “I can’t believe you did that,” he panted.

“I can’t believe I waited as long as I did,” Aziraphale replied, laughing quietly to himself as he miracled away their mess.

_If anyone is still monitoring my miracles, I hope they enjoy **that** one. I know I did._

They snuck back out from behind the shop, but were still hidden within the narrow passage when Crowley caught his reflection in the darkened side window. “Look at the mess you’ve made of my hair! People are going to think—”

“Leave it,” Aziraphale cut him off, voice low and husky in the demon’s ear. “I _want_ them to think that. I want people to take one look at you and _know_ that you’ve been _claimed_.”

_You’re mine, and I’m not afraid of anyone finding out anymore._

“Oh, I’ve been claimed, have I?”

“Yes,” he breathed into the demon’s ear. “And if you’re still uncertain of that, I might possibly need to drag you back around the corner to claim you _again_.”

“Angel, what has gotten into you?” Crowley grinned with scandalized delight.

“Right now, my dear, I’m more interested in what’s going to be getting into _you _with a little more privacy,” Aziraphale murmured, running his hand back through Crowley’s hair to pull his head to the side, nipping at the demon’s freshly-exposed collarbone.

“We’re eventually going to have to leave this alley, Angel,” Crowley reasoned. “Let’s go have lunch, and then we’ll see what trouble we can’t get into after, shall we?”

Aziraphale sighed. “Fine.” He linked their arms together and turned his head so Crowley wouldn’t see his grin as they continued on to the Ritz.

“I remember the first time you brought me here,” Aziraphale smiled at Crowley from behind a champagne flute.

“I had been thinking about it for decades.”

Aziraphale’s expression darkened slightly.

_Oh, I see._

Crowley reached out and took his hand. “If I’m being honest, I was playing a little dirty.”

“How do you mean?”

“Well,” Crowley pouted slightly as he spoke, “I thought, maybe, you might have remembered what you said and felt _just_ guilty enough about it to go along with something as ridiculous as an attempt to avert Armageddon.”

Aziraphale narrowed his eyes, but there was no heat to it.

“I wanted _more_, Aziraphale, I always have. You know that. Eleven years was never going to be enough. But if, for whatever reason, that was all we had, if I couldn’t keep my promise to you that we’d be free of it all, I wanted us to at least have a chance to dine at the Ritz.” Crowley smiled at him with all of the love he couldn’t speak. “I could at least give that to you.”

Aziraphale blushed. “Serpent.”

Crowley grinned back sweetly. “Angel.”

“I like to think none of this would have worked out if you weren’t, at heart, Just a little bit of a good person.” Aziraphale beamed at Crowley as the waiter poured their champagne.

“Or if you weren’t, deep down, just enough of a bastard to be worth knowing.”

The pair gazed at one another fondly as they toasted to their successes and newfound freedom.

“You’re glowing,” Aziraphale said as he put his champagne flute down.

_I’ve missed this face_, Aziraphale thought_. This face, so relaxed and happy. I was so worried it would forever be lost to me._

Crowley leaned his head back with a grin, running his tongue along his teeth. “Why, whatever do you mean, Angel?” He snaked a foot over to slide his ankle between Aziraphale’s under the angel’s chair.

“My, aren’t we growing bold.” Aziraphale grinned back, demurely, as he hooked his foot to trap the demon’s ankle between his own.

They enjoyed the rest of their meal, sharing details of their experiences while in one another’s bodies over dessert.

They left the restaurant, hand in hand, to walk to Crowley’s flat. There was a lightness to the demon’s step that Aziraphale hadn’t seen since the beginning. Aziraphale was delighted when Crowley spun him around and kissed him right there on the sidewalk.

_Look at you!_

“What was that for?” Aziraphale asked as their lips parted.

“Because we _can_,” Crowley said, triumphantly.

Aziraphale laughed, “I suppose we can!”

They continued walking to Crowley’s flat. They were walking to the door when Crowley said, “Right, if you want to wait right here, I’ll just go grab the keys out of my other pants and we can pop over to the shop.”

_This is it, _Aziraphale thought. _The hardest part of the day. You’d think that **actually** going to Hell and telling off Michael would have been harder than doing this, but here we are._

“Actually,” Aziraphale began, “do you think we could maybe step inside for a few minutes?”

“Anything you want,” Crowley replied softly.

“Thank you.”

Aziraphale told him about finding the box in his other jacket. Crowley had been planning to propose to him at the bandstand, where Aziraphale had ended it. Then again, the next day, on the sidewalk, and Aziraphale had turned him away once more. Crowley had made a third attempt to propose to him that afternoon, but when he got to the bookshop, Aziraphale had already been discorporated, and the shop was in flames.

_Ask me now. Please, ask me now._

“I don’t suppose…” Aziraphale began, losing his nerve halfway through.

“Uh… mm… er…” Crowley stammered nervously. “M-maybe I should take you to the bookshop…” He stood up. “Have a look around. I checked and things looked all right to me, but you’ll be better at spotting any differences, I think.”

“Oh. Oh, I see.” Aziraphale was crushed. “Well, three times does seem to be the limit, after all,” he said, almost, but not quite, under his breath.

Crowley reached out to touch Aziraphale’s hand. “Angel? Did you… Did you do what I said… In, in front of the mirror?” Crowley asked gently.

Aziraphale’s hesitated before nodding slightly in silent affirmation.

_Yes, and more._

Crowley pulled Aziraphale’s hand over his own heart, rubbing his thumb softly across the angel’s knuckles. “Good. That’s… That’s good. Thank you.”

Aziraphale tilted his head a little, looking from his hand over the demon’s heart and back up to his face. Crowley smiled half a smile and nodded. The angel sighed and stepped over to wrap his arms around him. He laid his head on the demon’s shoulder, pressing a soft kiss on his collar.

Crowley pulled him closer. “My angel,” he whispered, placing a gentle kiss on top of his head.

_Three times, _Aziraphale thought as they drove to the bookshop._ Three times seems to be your limit. If I hadn’t been such an idiot, I might have known what was happening. At least then, maybe… No, I don’t… I don’t think that would have changed anything_. He sighed quietly_. It isn’t fair._

He was given a temporary reprieve from his melancholy once they made it past the talkative potential customer and entered the shop.

Aziraphale made his way around, checking things old and discovering new. It was wonderful, he thought, to see most everything had been put back in place. It was near-overwhelming, but once he got to the bedroom, he felt weak in the knees by what he found there on the bedside table. 

There it was, the bundled red rose and black feather that had been so precious to him for the last 2000 years, along with a note written in Crowley's handwriting.

> ** _Marry Me, Angel._ **

“Adam reset a lot of things, Angel.” Aziraphale heard Crowley’s voice from behind him. “It’s almost as if certain events that happened yesterday afternoon never happened at all.” He turned around and looked down to see Crowley kneeling on the floor, hands cupped together and extended forward, the white box held between them.

_“Crowley.”_

He watched as the demon fumbled trying to get the box open, almost dropping it, before finally getting the ring out, holding it out to Aziraphale. “Third time’s the charm?”

Aziraphale looked back and forth from the ring to Crowley. “Are you really tempting me with an apple, you wily old serpent?”

“I’ll give you the whole tree,” Crowley breathed. “I’ll give you an entire Eden.”

_You romantic fool. All I want is **you**._

“Temptation accomplished,” Aziraphale whispered, smiling as he slid his finger through the ring.

“Yeah?” Crowley’s face lit up.

“Yes.” Aziraphale dropped down to his knees in front of Crowley and pulled him into a kiss.

They sat together in the floor, leaning back against the side of the bed, while Aziraphale admired the ring on his hand. “It’s so beautiful, Crowley. Wherever did you find it?”

“I had it custom-made for you awhile back,” Crowley replied quietly.

“How long ago?”

“1967.”

“That was the year that…” Aziraphale’s eyes widened while Crowley shrugged a bit.

“Yeah, well, I had been thinking about it for a long time. Knew I wanted to,” he sighed and ran his hand through his hair. “Couldn’t tell you how long _that_ was. Felt like maybe always, but didn’t think it was something that could ever happen.” He sighed softly, looking off into the distance before turning back to Aziraphale. “But I remember the day I realized that if I _could_ finally figure it out, how to get us both away from Heaven and Hell, then maybe…”

“When?” Aziraphale asked quietly.

Crowley rubbed the back of his neck and looked away. “Er… um… Uh, it…it’s probably silly.”

“It’s not.”

“It was the day Parliament decided to stop executing men who loved other men.” Crowley sighed. “Well, we’re _not_, are we? Not men. Not really. But the landscape was the same for us, wasn’t it?” 

Aziraphale smiled at the demon as if he had hung the stars in that moment, which was convenient, because he _had_.

_I remember that day_, he thought_. I remember how happy you were. I had no idea that was why. I can’t believe I thought it was that terrible hat._

“So, I started really getting more serious about figuring things out,” Crowley continued. “And just over a century later, the humans went a step further. When the, the bill was passed…”

“One hundred and six years later,” Aziraphale whispered.

Crowley nodded and looked at the angel wistfully, taking his hand before continuing. “When first I heard of it, I had put in the order that very morning with the jeweler. Got home from the shop and called a few contacts to set up a meeting. Told you before, I had a plan. I just had to assemble the pieces. I figured that was a sign to finally get to work on it again.”

_And once again, I thwarted you. Oh, how could I have been such an idiot?_

“Oh, Angel, no, don’t look like that,” Crowley pouted, reaching up to caress the angel’s cheek tenderly. “That wasn’t… Well, truth be told, I had already been kicking that plan around in my head for the last 106 years prior, and I still wasn’t completely sure how I was going to go about it. I just wanted it to be _done_. You weren’t entirely wrong about me going too fast. I was impatient.”

“And everything was just a reminder to you,” Aziraphale mused.

“Ye-, yeah. Well, the humans were starting to figure it out, weren’t they? Decriminalizing it, or at least it was a start. If men could love men without the fear of death or imprisonment, why couldn’t two human-shaped beings…” The demon sighed. “It was bad enough that I could never _say_ it. It was agony to have to keep _hiding_ it.” He closed his hands around Aziraphale’s hand and brought it to his lips, kissing the thumb. “I had hoped that we could just _be_ together, and it would be okay. I wanted to be able to walk down the street and _know_ that if I wanted to, I could hold your hand, or maybe even kiss you, without bringing the wrath of Heaven and Hell on top of our heads. I _needed_ to not have to act like we were ashamed anymore. I wanted there to be no doubt across all of time and space that I was yours and you were mine.” Crowley smiled, bringing a hand up to brush fingertips along the side of the angel’s cheek, wiping away the tear Aziraphale was unaware had been shed.

Aziraphale picked up the bundle again. A feather and a rose, both beautiful in their apparent simplicity, until one looked a bit further. The black feather, dark and imposing on the surface, was surprisingly soft and gentle to the touch. The red rose, a delicate and tender symbol of love, had many thorns underneath the blossom that could tear and inflict pain.

He turned the ancient items in his hand. Separately, the two items would have become dust over a millennium prior. But when they were placed side by side with care, bound together through tragedy, and protected through unyielding love, they were able to withstand the fires that burned all around them. In spite of the efforts to wipe them clean, there would always be bits of ash and soot that remained hidden in the cracks and crevices, but that wasn’t necessarily a bad thing. It was a marker of triumph, of trials overcome and lessons learned. It was a testament to a love with the longevity and endurance to withstand all of Heaven and Hell. Forever thriving, forever protected, forever loved.

Aziraphale pulled a short length of the twine free from the rose and feather bundle and formed a circle with it in his palm. With all of the love he had held back in all of his existence, his eyelids lowered as his fingers closed around the two strings wrapped so intimately around one another. He opened his eyes, then his hand, to look down at a ring. It had a black rhodium snake with feathery scales and a rose-gold vine of soft thorns, both woven around a simple, old-fashioned broad band of warm yellow gold.

The angel slipped the ring borne out of thousands of years of love onto the only finger it was ever destined to grace. He brought the demon’s hand up to his lips to kiss the promise of thousands of years more into the bands that both bound them together and set them free.

He stared down at the ring on his own hand.

_The apple tree._

_We met in a garden, in **the** Garden_, Aziraphale thought_, my hereditary enemy and I. Gentle as the patter of the first rain, he was, and exponentially more mesmerizing._

_I had hoped for this moment, for me, since the humans first left the garden to make their own choices. I didn’t understand it at the time. I thought I had done something wrong. But I soon began to discover what the warmth I felt was as I watched them walk through that hole in the wall. I knew it was longing. _

_I began to understand that when I met you._

“For all that I knew of Heaven, I never knew love until I knew you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for sticking with this! I have loved all the wonderful comments that have been left between these two stories. I can't wait to read more of them!
> 
> And though this part has ended, the story itself isn't over.  
There will be more to the series, but probably not for at least a few weeks given my schedule of other responsibilities this time of year.  
If you have any questions about things in the series, please feel free to ask! Some things I will answer in comments, and some might end up answered in the next part of the series. But please, ask anyway! I love the comments!
> 
> Thank you all again!


End file.
